Stay Strong
by FeliksLukasiewicz00
Summary: Parallel to Sollen Wir Tanzen?- Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy had fallen in love and gotten married years ago, and have now adopted two amazing twin boys, making wonderful and happy lives for themselves. Disaster eventually strikes, when Arthur goes missing, leaving Francis to stay strong for his two sons who could be in terrible danger. Rated T for violence and swearing
1. Parents

**Translations are at the end of the chapter**

* * *

Chapter 1

Parents

Francis rolled over in bed after checking the time on his phone. It was eleven thirty. Francis put his arm over Arthur's shoulder, and moved him closer to him.

"Arthur?" Francis asked.

"Bloody what, Francis?" Arthur grumbled, still half asleep.

"What's with the attitude?"

"I was asleep."

"Well you're not anymore." Francis whispered.

"That's why I'm mad."

Francis chuckled. "Arthur, I need to talk to you."

"Obviously." Arthur said.

Francis paused before continuing, figuring out how he should say it. "Remember earlier, we were in that park?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

"And we saw that mother with her baby. That was cute, don't you think?" Francis asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I guess so."

"And, there were those kids on the swings." Francis added.

"Where are you going with this, Francis?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I've been having some… Baby blues."

Arthur shifted in Francis' arms. "Baby blues?"

"You know," Francis began, "the want to have a… child."

Arthur sighed. "Incase you haven't noticed, Francis, we are both men. I'm afraid that we can't,"

"Well, there's always adoption." Francis mumbled. "But, I can ignore it, if you don't feel the same way."

Arthur did not reply for a long time, making Francis believe he fell back asleep. "I will have to check over the finances, but, I want children, too." Arthur said to Francis' relief.

"Really?" Francis exclaimed, happiness filling his chest.

"Yes. But first I need to check over the finances and everything, we need to make sure we can support a child."

"Of course," Francis agreed, "we don't want to bring a child into a home that can't afford them."

A long silence hit the room, making Francis believe that Arthur fell asleep again.

"So tomorrow," Arthur began tiredy, "we can check the finances and start looking at orphanages that we can adopt from."

" _Oui!_ " Francis exclaimed loudly and excitedly.

"Ow, that's my ear." Arthur grumbled.

" _Désolé, mon cher._ " Francis whispered into Arthur's ear.

"Bloody frog." Arthur teased.

"Maybe we shouldn't have kids, you'd probably teach them to hate me."

"Of course I would." Arthur replied.

Francis smiled. "But why?"

"It's simple, really." Arthur began. "I hate you."

"Well I hate you too."

Francis couldn't see Arthur's face, but he knew he was scowling. "Well that's quite contradicting."

"How so?"

"You just said you wanted to adopt a child with me, and now you're telling me that you hate me," Arthur yawned, "make up your damn mind."

Francis smiled. " _Non!_ "

"Bloody frog." Arthur moaned.

Francis pretended to feel offended. "You're so kind."

"Yes, yes," Arthur began, "everyone knows how much of an arse I am, you don't have to throw that horrible sarcasm at me."

"Like I said. You're kind." Francis replied sarcastically.

"What did I say about bad sarcasm?" Arthur threatened, his voice growing quieter through his tiredness.

"Why are you so tired? Are you really that old?" Francis teased, hearing the exhaustion in his husband's voice.

"Well, being the school librarian, I need to open the library at six forty-five in the morning, so I need to get up at around five thirty. Also you don't help."

"What did I do?" Francis exclaimed.

"Keep me up until midnight." Arthur growled.

" _Désolé, mon cher._ "

Arthur sighed. "It's fine, love. Just let me sleep. We can talk more about the adoption idea in the morning."

Francis yawned. "Alright, fine."

"Goodnight, frog."

" _Bonne nuit,_ blacksheep."

.

 _One Month Later_

Francis rolled up in his driveway, whistling to a made up tune. He turned off his car, grabbed his new folder, and go out of the car. Closing the door behind him, Francis skipped up the driveway and onto his porch. Without warning, he swung the front door open and ran in.

"Bloody hell! Are you trying to give he a heart attack!" Arthur yelled.

Francis trotted into the house, picked up Arthur by the waist, and held onto him. "Guess what!" Francis sang.

Arthur scowled. "What?"

Francis lowered Arthur to the ground, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Well," he began, showing the peach colored folder filled with papers to Arthur, "we were accepted."

"Accepted?" Arthur asked before a look of realization hit him. "You mean, by the adoption agency?" Arthur exclaimed.

" _Oui._ "

Arthur grabbed Francis by the shoulders. "This isn't a joke, we were accepted?"

Francis nodded, happiness filling his chest. "I wouldn't joke about this, and _oui_."

Arthur ran his fingers through his short, shaggy blonde hair. "This is… is…" Arthur trailed off.

Francis smiled at his English partner. "This is what?"

Arthur looked at Francis' light blue eyes with his dark green ones. "Wonderful." He breathed.

"I agree." Francis replied, losing himself in his own thought. He's going to be a father. They're going to be parents. He's going to have a family… Hopefully.

"Just the agency?" Arthur asked, his English accent cutting into Francis' thoughts.

Francis tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Just the adoption agency accepted us, no parents or anything of that sort?"

Francis smiled. " _Oui,_ just the agency."

A small flicker of disappointment appeared in Arthur's eyes. "Oh, that's okay."

"We wouldn't want this to happen too fast, Arthur."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Yes, I know."

"But," Francis started, "in that folder is some parents that have been interested in choosing us to be their child's parents."

"Really?" Arthur asked before opening the folder and searching through the papers. Arthur froze, staring at the paper. "There are only two names on here." Arthur replied, his eyes turning dark in his sadness.

Francis sighed. "I know, Arthur, but that's more that what I thought would be on there. I thought there would be only one name, if any. People just don't accept homosexuals to take care of their children…"

Arthur didn't respond, he just stared forward at the sheet of paper, his eyes filled with disappointment and sadness. "Why must people judge the way they do? There's nothing wrong with us." He finally said.

"I don't know, _mon cher,_ but don't let it go to your head. There are two names on that list! Two chances, and more to come!" Francis exclaimed, trying to cheer up his Englishman.

"Only two." Arthur mumbled.

Francis gave Arthur a reassuring smile. "We'll figure this out. We're both stubborn as hell, we'll adopt someone."

A small smirk appeared on Arthur's lips. "Hopefully." He mumbled.

.

 _A Week and a Half Later_

Arthur sat on the couch, listening to the T.V. as he looked through the folder of documents he got from the agency… again. He came across the paper with the names of the parents who were considering choosing them… Arthur stared at the black mark through the second name. Heather Merritt decided to reject them before ever meeting them, so Arthur drew a dark, black line through her name. He and Francis just begged that Jessica Smith would accept them.

The phone rang, right on cue.

Arthur looked at the contact name, it was Ms. Jessica Smith.

"Hello, Ms. Smith." Arthur greeted cheerfully.

"Hello, Arthur. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jessie." She replied.

"Sorry, Jessie." Arthur replied. According to the light-hearted and happy tone in her voice, she didn't call to reject them… Hopefully.

"It's alright, Arthur. I'm wondering, is Francis there?"

"Uh, no." Arthur stated, "He's at work. He'll be home shortly, though."

"Oh, it's okay, I'll just have you tell him."

Arthur tilted his head to the side. "Tell him what?"

"When would be a good time for us to have lunch, or something? I'd like to get to know you."

Joy filled Arthur. Jessie was actually giving them a chance, unlike Mrs. Merritt. "Uh, we're both free on the weekends, well, actually Francis works on Saturdays and gets Sunday off, but we're free on Sunday."

"Sunday it is then." Jessica decided cheerfully.

"Alright, how does two o'clock work for you?"

"Two works just fine. Meet me at the Panera Bread on Gregory Drive?"

Arthur smiled. "Okay, Jessie, I meet you there."

"Okay, goodbye now." Jessie sang.

"Goodbye." Arthur hung up, then sat there, staring forward blankly. If this went well, he and Francis may even have a chance of adopting children.

The front door opened, revealing Francis' return to the house.

"Francis!" Arthur yelled in excitement.

"What? I'm sorry!" Francis yelled back in almost through reflex.

"Come here, come here!" Arthur called from the living room, turning off the T.V. that he wasn't watching.

"What?" Francis moaned, walking into the room.

"We're going to meet Ms. Jessica Smith on Sunday at two o'clock!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Who?" Francis asked.

"The only person who's giving us a chance to adopt her child."

"What?" Francis exclaimed. "This is wonderful! She's giving us a chance?"

"Well, we are meeting her on Sunday."

Francis smiled brightly. "This Sunday?"

"Yes."

Francis hugged Arthur tightly. "Everything might work out! We might be parents!"

Arthur gave Francis a short and sweet kiss on the lips. "Hopefully."

.

Arthur and Francis sat inside the Panera Bread on Gregory Drive. The building was warm from the ovens, and had the wonderfully distracting smell of freshly baked bread. It was around lunch, so not many people were there, most were at home, shoveling their driveways clear of the last snowfall.

Arthur stared at Francis as he ate his French bread. "How stereotypical are you?"

"Hey!" Francis began, "this is the closest I can get to real French bread! I've been eating horrible, American Wonder Bread since I was a teenager!"

"Yet you still complain." Arthur moaned. "You think you'd be used to it by now."

"Well I'm used to delicious French cuisine, unlike you who's used to tasteless English slop. So of course you're used to it."

Arthur scowled. "Why must you always bring up my cooking?" He hissed. "It's not that bad."

"I guess your fish and chips are… tolerable." Francis mumbled.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Only my fish and chips?"

" _Oui._ "

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Bloody frog."

"Excuse me."

Arthur and Francis looked over to the right. At the source of the unknown voice was a young woman, who must be no older than twenty. Her long, dirty blonde hair was tied back in a tail, she wore a purple blouse and blue jeans, and rectangular glasses over her dark blue eyes.

"Hello." Arthur greeted with a smile.

"You must be Arthur and Francis." The woman started. "I heard the 'bloody frog' and kinda guessed. Anyway, I'm Jessie."

Arthur stood up. "Hello, I'm Arthur." He pulled out a chair for Jessica, who sat in it gratefully.

"I'm Francis." The frog began. "So, Jessie… You brought the crack, right?"

Arthur, who just sat back down, gave Francis a strong kick in the shin. Francis then gave Arthur a look of horror. This wasn't a good first impression, and this was their last chance.

Jessie smiled. "Only if you have the money."

Confusion crossed both Arthur and Francis' faces, before Francis began to chuckle and Arthur gave her an amused smile.

"But, we really shouldn't talk about that in public, we don't want people calling the cops." Jessie whispered, delivering them a devious smile.

"Yes, you're right. We don't want to get caught." Francis joked.

"I guess we should shut up about it," Arthur chimed in, "I can't go back to prison."

The three of them shared laughter, then finally calmed down.

"I guess we're lucky you have a sense of humor, we could have been in big trouble if you didn't." Arthur said.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I heard the tone in Francis' voice, so I played along. But just to be clear, you're not into drugs, right?" Jessie asked.

"Of course not." Arthur and Francis replied simultaneously.

Jessica pointed at Arthur. "And you were just kidding about the prison thing?"

"Yes."

"Good, good." Jessie replied, nodding awkwardly. "So… What are your jobs?"

"I am a chef at the French restaurant down the road." Francis replied.

"Which one?"

" _La Cuisine Française._ "

"Oh, I've been there a couple of times, recently actually. What are your work hours?"

Francis glanced up at the ceiling. "I work from four to nine in the evening."

"And what about you, Arthur?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "I am a school librarian at Ravenwood High School."

"Thrilling." Jessie said sarcastically. "Work hours?"

"Uh, I open the library at six forty-five in the morning, and close it at about three fifteen or three thirty in the afternoon."

"Okay. Um, what next. Let me think…" Jessica trailed off, looking around the room almost as if it had the next question. "Any family?"

Arthur looked to Francis, who gave her a smile. "No I don't. But I am close friends with our neighbors that live across the street. They're brother and sister named Tim and Laura. Tim being the older brother, and Laura being the younger sister."

Jessie glanced from Francis to Arthur, but didn't say anything.

"I have three brothers," Arthur started, "all three are wankers, but I'm genetically programmed to love them."

Jessie laughed. "And what would their names be?"

"Well, there's my oldest brother, Alistair, then my second oldest, Patrick, then my third oldest, Dylan, then myself."

"Oh," Jessica said, smiling, "you're the youngest child."

Arthur took a sip of his water and swallowed. "Yes."

"So, is that why they're wankers?" Jessie asked.

"Well they're wankers because, well… Many reasons, actually. But whatever, they're still my brothers."

Jessie chuckled again. "Well I would like to meet these, wankers, and your neighbors. They seem nice."

"Arthur's brothers are much nicer than he is anyday." Francis teased.

Arthur scowled at the wine-drinker sitting to his left. "I hate you."

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you say 'I love you?'"

"All insults that we give to one another are fake, we really don't mean it." Francis explained.

"At least that's what I let you think." Arthur mumbled.

A long silence hit them as Jessica tried to figure out what to ask next. "What's your health history?"

"Uh," Francis began, running his fingers through his long, light blonde hair, "normal I guess. My father died of a heart attack. Some cardiovascular problems run in my family, but it's very small."

Jessie looked to Arthur. "You?"

"Um, arthritis runs in my family. My parents got it at a young age, and so did my grandparents. Alistair is going to start dealing with it in a couple years, he can tell. Other than that, type one diabetes, but none of my brothers or I have it."

"That's good." Jessie said. "What about your parents?"

"My parents moved back to England," Arthur said, "my father's work moved us all here, and by the time it moved him back, my brothers and I had already graduated high school, and going to college, so the four of us stayed." Arthur explained.

Jessie nodded, then shifted her weight in her chair and looked up at Francis. "You said your father died, what about your mother, Francis?"

Francis swallowed his piece of bread. "She's still in France. We moved here after the death of my father, to try and start a new life, but she felt guilty, and moved back when I was in college."

Another silence, but this one was short and sweet.

"I've ran out of things to ask you." Jessica said, glancing from Arthur to Francis.

"Just wondering, how pregnant are you? It didn't say on any of the papers we got." Francis asked.

"Three months."

Francis smiled cheerfully. "Oh, only six more months."

"Yep," Jessie breathed, "six more months of morning sickness and strange cravings."

"Like what?" Francis asked. "Human flesh?"

Jessica smiled. "You know it."

"Speaking of food, are you hungry? Do you want me to buy you anything?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, no. The other day I was happy that I would come here and eat, but I'm actually a little nauseous right now."

Arthur leaned forward a tiny bit. "Do you need me to do anything?"

Jessie waved her hand dismissively. "No, I'm fine." She then adjusted her glasses, and tucked her loose bangs behind her ear. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Arthur and Francis fell silent. They were both prepared to answer any and all questions she for them, but they hadn't thought of any to ask her.

"Um," Francis hummed, "what about your health? I just want to be prepared for what we might encounter with your child, healthwise."

"Well, as you can tell, poor eyesight has been running in my family for generations, so you'll probably have to deal with that. Um, on a positive note, people in my family tend to heal faster, and have a higher tolerance to pain." Jessie glanced down at her hands that were folded in her lap, then back up. "But there is something I have to tell you."

Fear rose in Arthur's chest, but he kept the slight smile on his face. "What is it?"

"I really hope this doesn't change anything," she began, running her hand over her stomach, "but I'm having twins."

Relief washed over Arthur, he had expected Jessie to say something about a horrible disease that runs in her family, or something along those lines. Arthur looked at Francis, then back to Jessie. "No, this doesn't change anything."

Jessica sighed in relief. "Thank God. I was worried that you'd turn me down because of that."

"We were worried you'd turn us down because of our sexuality." Francis replied.

"Why the hell would that matter?" Jessie said. "As long as my children are supported by people, whether two men, two women, or a man and a woman, and they are loved, I'm good."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, not many people say things like that."

Jessie stared at the table, thinking. "Next Sunday, you want to meet here again, same time? Hopefully I'll actually eat."

"Sure, yes." Francis exclaimed. "Let's meet here again. Sunday, two o'clock?"

"Yes." Jessica said, standing.

Arthur stood up. "It was nice talking to you, Jessie. And I can't wait to see you on Sunday."

"Me neither, Arthur. Anyways, I'll see you around, guys."

"Goodbye." Arthur said.

" _Au Revoir._ " Francis called.

Arthur and Francis then stood, and made their way out of the restaurant, and to their car. They rode home in silence, thinking about what could be. They would be parents… Hopefully. They finally arrived at the house and walked in, both of them filled with excitement.

"So this must be good." Francis started, "I mean, were going to see her again."

"Yes." Arthur replied over his shoulder. He turned around. "But, what if she does choose us?" Arthur asked. "We'll be parents..."

" _Oui._ " Francis said, hugging Arthur.

"And, we'll see them as newborns. Their first birthdays, and second birthdays..." Arthur continued.

Francis smiled at Arthur.

"And, their first words, and we would teach them how to ride a bike…"

Arthur sat down on the couch, Francis sitting next to him.

"Then they'd go to kindergarten, and gradeschool, oh, and middle school along with high school…" Arthur trailed off, thinking of what would come next. "They would graduate and move away and go to college. They would start a family of their own and we'd become grandfathers. Then we would get too old to live alone, so they'd pay for putting us in a retirement home. Then we'd get ill and die…" Arthur trailed off, sadness and fear filling him. "Our children would be crying, and they'd have a funeral and have to bury us, and- maybe we shouldn't do this, I don't want them to have to bury us!"

" _Mon cher,_ you're getting ahead of yourself."

"Oh, God, what if _we_ have to bury _them?_ " Arthur breathed.

"What?" Francis exclaimed. "No, Arthur, don't think like that!" Francis grabbed Arthur's hands. "Listen, we have to do this one step at a time. We've already completed one step, which was to talk to Jessie. Do you know what step two is?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Talk to her on Sunday."

"What about after that?" Arthur asked.

"Do not think that far into the future. The furthest we'll be thinking is Sunday. That's all."

"Sunday." Arthur echoed. "Nothing past Sunday."

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _Oui-_ Yes (French)

 _Désolé, mon cher-_ Sorry, dear (French)

 _Non-_ No (French)

 _Bonne nuit-_ Goodnight (French)

 _La Cuisine Française-_ The French Kitchen (French)

 _Au Revoir-_ Goodbye (French)


	2. Years of Happiness

**Translations are at the bottom of the chapter**

* * *

Chapter 2

Years of Happiness

 _The First Night_

Arthur walked in his front door, holding back tears of joy as he stared down at the newborn baby that he and Francis decided to call "Alfred." Behind him, Arthur heard a soft, quiet moan come from the newborn that Francis was holding named "Matthew."

"What's wrong?" Francis asked, looking down into the newborn's lavender eyes.

Alfred let out a similar sound. "What?" Arthur asked, walking down the hallway to the room that Matthew and Alfred would be sharing.

Arthur laid Alfred down on the soft mattress of the crib. Francis laid Matthew down next to his blue-eyed twin. Immediately, the two newborns silenced their soft moans.

"Oh, how cute." Francis mumbled.

"Hmm?" Arthur hummed.

"They were starting to get upset because they missed each other." Francis explained. "So adorable."

Arthur didn't reply, he just stared down at his two sons contently with a large smile. The twin boys cuddled close together and fell asleep quickly. Arthur crossed his arms, shifting his weight, and resting the side of his head on Francis' shoulder. They both yawned tiredly.

"We should head to bed." Arthur whispered.

" _Oui._ " Francis replied.

But neither one of them moved, they just stared down at their sons, who slept soundly.

"We should head to bed." Arthur repeated.

Francis nodded in agreement.

"Francis, let's go to bed."

" _Oui,_ let's go to bed." Francis replied.

Francis began to turn away, but Arthur stayed in place.

"Arthur, you alright?" Francis asked.

"I'm wonderful, Francis."

Francis shifted his weight. "Then why are you just standing there?"

"I can't just leave." Arthur whispered.

"We need to go to bed. They'll wake us in a few hours because they'll need something." Francis said.

Arthur tilted his head to the left. "I don't want them to have to cry for us to come and help them."

"Arthur, you can't just stand there all night."

Arthur sighed and gave in, he was in too good of a mood to argue. "Fine. I'm coming, love. Just give me a moment."

Francis walked into their room as Arthur continued to stare at his new sons. "Goodnight, my sweet boys." Arthur whispered, turning on the nightlight, turning off the lamp, and going to bed.

.

Arthur sat up quickly to the sound of his crying sons. "Francis!" Arthur exclaimed loudly.

"What?" Francis moaned, already standing. "I hear them, I hear them."

Arthur sprung out of bed and jogged down the hall to the twins room. He opened the door to the small, dark room that was filled with two screaming, crying babies. Arthur calmly walked across the room and turned the lamp on, Francis right behind him.

Arthur turned to Francis. "What do you think is wrong?"

Francis stared at Arthur, wide eyed. "How the hell should I know?"

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, do we need to change their diapers?"

"I don't know."

Arthur lowered his hands. "You check Alfred, and I'll check Matthew."

Francis' face twisted in disgust. "Alright."

Arthur shook his head. "It's not their diapers." He concluded after figuring out that neither Alfred nor Matthew needed their diaper to be changed.

"Are they hungry?" Francis asked, lowering Alfred back into the crib.

"I'll be right back with some formula." Arthur replied, jogging out of the room. He had already prepared the formula before he went to bed, so all he had to do if the twins got hungry was to warm it up in the microwave. He impatiently tapped his fingers on the off white countertop as he watched the green numbers slowly tick down on the microwave.

Arthur glared at the numbers. "Are you done yet?" He mumbled to the inanimate object. The microwave beeped in reply, informing the Englishman that the bottles of formula were finished warming up. He grabbed the warm bottles, and quickly walked back down the light brown hallway.

When he entered the room, Francis was already holding Alfred, and Matthew was still lying in the crib. Gingerly, Arthur bent down and picked up the crying infant and handed Francis a bottle of formula. _Please just say that you were hungry_ , Arthur begged to himself.

Unfortunately for the pair of fathers, Matthew and Alfred refused to drink the formula, for they were not hungry. Arthur moaned as he placed the warm bottle of the milky-looking liquid on the nightstand. He started to bounce Matthew. "What else could be wrong?" Arthur asked Francis.

"Uh…" Francis began, bouncing Alfred in his arms, "maybe we could try and burp them?"

"But they didn't eat." Arthur replied.

"Still, they ate at the hospital."

Arthur blinked, his dark green eyes only half open. "They were burped at the hospital."

"Just try." Francis ordered, adjusting Alfred in his arms, and patting his back.

Arthur followed Francis' movements, patting Matthew lightly on the back, still bouncing the purple eyed infant. Minutes passed, and both babies were still balling. "I don't think they need to burp, Francis." Arthur moaned tiredly.

" _Dieu Merci_ that it's summer and you don't have to work in the morning." Francis mumbled.

"No kidding." Arthur replied, still bouncing crying Matthew.

"What if one is crying, because the other is crying?" Francis asked.

Arthur looked over to his Frenchman. "What do you mean?"

"What if one started crying, and the other was woken up, so they started crying too?"

"It would make sense." Arthur yawned, glancing up to the ceiling, then back to the crying infant in his arms.

"We need to figure out a way to calm them both down at the same time." Francis thought outloud.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"Well, how?" Francis asked.

"Don't look at me," Arthur started, "I don't know."

"Um…" Francis trailed off. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "Sometimes, people sing lullabyes."

"And?" Arthur asked, looking suspiciously at his husband out of the corner of his eye.

"Sing one." Francis instructed.

Arthur blushed. "Me? You're the one who sings."

" _Oui,_ but my singing voice it too high-pitched, yours is deeper." Francis explained.

"How the hell do you know that?" Arthur snapped.

"You thought you were alone in the house while you were cleaning," Francis started, "but that's not important right now. Just sing."

"Uh…" Arthur cleared his throat. "Hush little child, don't you cry. Daddy's going to buy a mockingbird." Arthur sang awkwardly. "If that mockingbird…" Arthur trailed off. "I don't know the rest of the song." He whispered to Francis.

Francis shook his head. "I don't either."

"I don't know any lullabyes." Arthur said.

"Sing something you do know."

"Like what?"

"Anything that isn't punk rock. We don't need to make the kids cry more."

Arthur scowled at Francis. "Don't worry, I won't."

Francis smiled. "How about The Beatles. You know practically every one of their songs."

"Alright." Arthur mumbled, looking at Matthew. He thought of which one he should sing. Why not his favorite? Arthur cleared his throat. "Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies, somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly, a girl with kaleidoscope eyes." Arthur paused, glancing towards Francis, who nodded in approval. "Cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering over your head, look for the girl with the sun in her eyes, and she's gone…" Arthur paused, listening to the three beats of the drum in his head. Matthew and Alfred had calmed down a little, but began to cry a bit louder when Arthur stopped singing, so he continued in a calm, deep voice. "Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds, Aaaaahhhhh." Arthur stopped to take a deep breath, then continued. "Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain, where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies, everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers, that grow so incredibly high." Arthur stopped again, to hear how much the infants had stopped crying. They had receded back into quiet moans.

"Keep going." Francis mumbled.

Arthur smiled, and continued. "Newspaper taxis appear on the shore, waiting to take you away, climb in the back with your head in the clouds, and you're gone… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Aaaaahhhhh…" Arthur stopped when he realized that his newborn twin sons were now asleep. Silently, Arthur laid Matthew back in the crib, Francis lying Alfred beside him, and went back to bed.

.

 _First Birthday._

Francis went walking to the front door at the sound of its ringing bell. He looked through the peephole before unlocking and opening the off white colored door. " _Bonjour,_ Alistair!" He exclaimed at the sight of Arthur's red headed oldest brother.

"Afternoon." Alistair greeted, a slight smile on his lips.

"Come in!" Francis cheered, moving out of the way and closing the door after Alistair entered.

"Bloody hell, you're here." Arthur hissed from the living room.

"Love you too, Art." Alistair mumbled.

"No you don't." Arthur teased.

"You're right, I only love my nephews. That is why I'm here." Alistair replied. Francis watched as his brother-in-law entered the living room, and squatted down in front of Matthew and Alfred. "Happy birthday, boys." Alistair cheered, hugging the twins.

"Awie!" Alfred exclaimed.

Francis walked in the room, and sat down beside his sons. At this angle he could see Alistair's smile.

"Yes, that is your uncle Ali, isn't it?" Arthur asked.

"Awie!" Matthew exclaimed in a bit quieter of a voice.

The doorbell rang again, and Francis saw his two sons grow silent and look in the direction of the front door.

"Papa!" Matthew yelled.

Arthur laughed his beautiful laugh. "He's telling you to get the door, Francis."

Francis looked at his purple eyed son. " _Oui,_ your highness." He got off of the couch, and strode to the door. He put his hand on the door handle and looked at Arthur. "I wonder if your brothers will come in age order, like they did for Christmas."

"Well we won't know until you open the door, so get on with it." Arthur replied.

Francis opened the door to see Dylan, the third youngest. "Well Patrick failed to come in chronological order. Oh well, come in Dylan." Francis said, opening the door.

"Yes, I beat him here!" Dylan cheered, entering the living room.

"Finally, you've achieved your greatest accomplishment in life!" Alistair teased. "You can die happy now!"

Dylan glared at his oldest brother. "I don't want to hear it, Ali."

"Yes, but you _need_ to hear it." Alistair replied, smiling.

Francis laughed, sitting down in the middle of the living room floor.

"Who invited you anyway?" Dylan snapped, jokingly.

"Yeah." Arthur agreed. "Because it certainly wasn't me."

Alistair shrugged. "You did, Art."

Francis saw his Englishman scowl at Alistair. "I don't remember doing that."

Alistair cocked his head to the side. "Maybe you were drunk at the time."

"No, no," Francis began. "I hide the whiskey from him, he wasn't drunk."

Arthur scowled at Francis, who smiled back. It was fun to watch Arthur tease and get teased by his brothers. Francis looked back at the blonde who he fell in love with. Arthur had extended his index and middle fingers with his fingernails facing him. Francs began laughing.

Once again, the doorbell rang. Francis was just about to stand, when Dylan jumped to his feet.

"Let me get it." Dylan said.

Francis shrugged. "Hey, I don't have to get up, so go ahead."

Although he wasn't opening the door, he still watched as Dylan answered the ringing of the bell. Dylan opened the door and Francis heard Patrick.

"Dammit!" Patrick exclaimed. "You beat me here."

Dylan laughed at his older brother. "Come on in."

Patrick entered the house. "Afternoon, everyone."

"Afternoon." Francis replied.

Simultaneously, Arthur and Alistair faked a scowl at their brother. "Bugger off." They both said.

Patrick stopped in his tracks. "Don't use that kind of language in front of the kids."

"Hippacrit." Francis stated, pointing at Arthur's older brother. "You said 'dammit' at my front door."

Patrick smiled at Francis, and walked over to the twins. "Happy birthday!" He cheered.

"Pat, Pat, Pat…" Alfred murmured.

Patrick smiled and sat down.

Francis watched Dylan pace over, and squat in front of Matthew and Alfred. "Happy birthday." He whispered, leaning closer to their faces.

"Dada." Alfred replied.

Francis laughed. Dylan and Arthur were very similar in appearance. Dylan's hair was dirty blonde instead of regular blonde, Dylan's hair was a little longer than Arthur's was, and his green eyes had a slight blue tint to them, but Arthur and Dylan's voices were almost exact in tone, and their facial features were way too similar.

"No, Dyl." Dylan corrected.

"Dy!" Matthew exclaimed.

Francis widened his eyes, jumped up to his feet, and fast walked to the kitchen. He came walking back with a blue and red frosted cake, with the works "Happy Birthday! Alfred and Matthew!" written in icing. His sons were already seated in their highchairs in the living room.

"Arthur, get some plates." Francis instructed.

Without a word, his Englishman strode into the the kitchen, and returned with seven paper plates.

Francis began singing the "Happy Birthday" song with the rest of the group, and began slicing the cake. He sliced two small pieces of cake for Matthew and Alfred, and set it down in front of them. While he sliced cake for everyone else, he watched as the twins began happily eating their dessert with their hands.

The blonde Frenchman handed out the cake to the group, and everyone began eating. While he cheerfully ate his cake, Francis would glance over to his twin sons. He couldn't hold back a slight chuckle at the sight of their adorable little faces smeared with icing.

.

 _First Day of Kindergarten_

"Alfred! Matthew!" Arthur called from the living room. "Hurry up, or you'll be late!"

Within a matter of seconds, Alfred came running down the hall towards Arthur.

"Where's your brother?" Arthur asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"He's still in our room." Alfred replied quickly. "Mattie!" Alfred yelled, "Hurry up!"

Matthew turned the corner out of his room and fast walked down the hall. "I'm here." Matthew said calmly.

"Well I'm glad you two are ready on time, it's just your father who thinks he has all the time in the world." Arthur mumbled to his twin sons. "Francis!" He yelled down the hallway.

"Calm down!" Francis yelled back.

"You're going to make our sons late for their first day of school!" Arthur argued.

"One moment." Francis said, poking his head out of the bathroom, where he was currently fixing his hair.

"Well, Rapunzel," Arthur teased, "whenever you're finished with your hair, we should drive our sons to school."

"Give me a second!" Francis sang in a high-pitched feminine voice. Alfred and Matthew let out a quiet snicker.

Arthur rolled his eyes with a small smirk on his lips. Francis was the largest annoyance he could ever fall in love with. How the hell did Francis make argueing so damn fun? Francis appeared in the hall and came walking down, smiling his beautiful smile. Arthur faked a scowl. "Ready yet, your highness?"

" _Oui,_ peasant, I am." Francis teased before quickly turning and hugging the twin boys. " _Oh mon Dieu!_ You're growing up so fast! You're already going to school! Are you excited?"

"Yes!" The dirty blonde haired twins replied ecstatically.

Francis pulled away from Matthew and Alfred. "Well let's go then."

Alfred and Matthew went running to the coatrack to retrieve their backpacks, that were pretty much empty. As his sons came running to the living room, Arthur opened the front door, allowing them to go sprinting out of it, down the steps, and to the car.

Arthur unlocked the the car and sat in the passenger seat, Francis sat in the driver's seat, and their sons climbed into the back seats, buckling themselves in.

"So," Arthur began, twisting in his seat so he could see the his sons, "what do you think school is going to be like?"

"We think its going to be really fun." Alfred exclaimed. "We think the teacher is going to be-"

"-really nice, and we're going to do really cool things." Matthew finished.

"Do you think you're going to make any friends?" Francis asked.

"Yeah." Matthew said quietly.

"Yeah, Mattie and me are going to make tons of friends!" Alfred answered, gesturing with his hands. "Oh, and also me and Mattie are going to have so much fun at playtime."

Arthur let out a short chuckle. "What kind of things are you going to do during playtime?"

"I like playing tag." Matthew said quietly. "And hide-and-seek is really fun."

"Yeah." Alfred agreed, turning to face Matthew. "And we can have fun on the slides, too."

"And we can play on the climby thing with all the red and blue bars." Matthew added.

Arthur felt the car make a right turn, still listening to all the possible ways that Matthew and Alfred could have fun at their new school. Arthur turned to see the road. "Look boys!" He exclaimed, pointing to the brick building with blue and red stripes colored all over it. "There's your school."

"What? Where?" The young twins asked simultaneously.

"There." Francis replied, pointing.

"Cool." Alfred breathed.

Arthur glanced to Matthew, looking for a reaction. Matthew's face seemed to glow with excitement as he stared forward. Francis pulled up to the curb and parked. Francis unlocked the doors, letting Arthur stand out of his seat along with their sons.

"Let's go, my sons." Arthur said.

His twin sons, Alfred and Matthew, seemed to bubble with excitement as they walked down the halls. With every turn came the exhale of "Cool" from the both of them. Arthur, Francis, Matthew and Alfred arrived at the door.

Arthur bent down and hugged his sons. "I'll see you in a few hours, boys. I love you."

"You you too, dad." They said as Arthur pulled away.

"Goodbye, _mes fils_." Francis mumbled, hugging them. He pulled away. "I love you."

"Goodbye, papa, love you." The twins replied, walking into their classroom.

.

 _Adopted?_

Francis heard his husband and his sons walk through the front door. Arthur had just returned from picking up their six year old sons from school. Arthur was chatting with them about something, but Francis couldn't tell what exactly was being said from in his bedroom.

"Wait here, boys, I'll be right back." Francis heard his thick eyebrowed Englishman say from down the hall.

Arthur strode in the room, cracking the door behind him. "Francis, we need to tell them."

"Tell them?" Francis asked, turning around after buttoning up his shirt, "Tell them what?"

"About…" Arthur trailed off, "us."

"Us?"

"The whole, homosexual thing." Arthur murmured.

Francis narrowed his eyebrows, "Why?"

"Well, today in school, they were talking about their families," Arthur began, "and Alfred asked me why he and Matthew are the only ones that have two fathers."

Francis nodded. "Well, do you think it would also be time to tell them that they're adopted?" He asked.

"Why would that come up?"

"We're telling them about us, why not tell them about that?" Francis asked. "And besides, two men can't have children."

Arthur covered his mouth with his right hand. "Do you think they're old enough to understand?"

"We love them with all of our hearts," Francis started, "they're our whole world, and we have to tell them that. If they were our biological children, that would change nothing."

Arthur smiled. "You're right."

Francis faked a shocked expression. "You'd admit that I'm right? Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?" He exclaimed.

Arthur scowled. "I'll admit it once. That's the only time that you will ever hear that from me."

Francis chuckled. "Expected." He said, walking out of his room and down the hall.

"Papa!" The twins called simultaneously before hugging him around the waist.

"Oh, _bonjour,_ my sons!" Francis cheered. "How was school?"

"School was fun." Matthew replied, pulling away with a smile.

Alfred pulled away as well. "At recess, Mattie and I were playing with a new kid. We played tag and he was really fast. I can't remember his name, but I'm bad with names."

Francis chuckled. "I'm glad you're making new friends. What else happened?"

"Uh…" Alfred hummed.

"We started an art project." Matthew began. "We talked about family today. We're going to start painting our families tomorrow."

"That's nice." Francis said. "I bet the painting will be very beautiful!"

"Yeah…" Alfred said slowly. "Hey, Papa, how come all of the other kids have a mom and a dad, and we have two dads? I asked Daddy, but he said he had to talk to you first."

Francis sat down on the floor, Arthur sitting next to him. "Well," Francis began. "your father and I love each other very much, but most families don't have two fathers."

"Your Papa is right." Arthur added. "Most families have a mother and a father." Arthur paused to seemingly gather his thoughts. "You know how in movies, the girl and boy end up falling in love?"

"Yeah." Matthew mumbled, a confused look on his face.

"Well to men or women can fall in love too." Francis continued.

"And you're like that?" Alfred asked.

"Yes." Arthur answered.

Matthew tilted his head to the side. "But, most families aren't?"

" _Oui._ " Francis answered.

Francis was afraid to continue, for he wasn't sure how his sons would react to the fact that they were adopted… But he had to tell them. "Matthew, Alfred," Francis began, "we need to tell you something else."

"What is it?" Alfred asked, his bright blue eyes filled with concern.

"You're…" Francis trailed off.

Arthur cleared his throat. "You're adopted."

Matthew narrowed his eyebrows. "Adopted? What-"

"-does that mean?" Alfred finished.

"It means that you're…" Arthur trailed off, looking at the ceiling.

"That you're not… ours." Francis finished.

"Not… yours?" Alfred asked.

"What do you mean, 'not yours'?" Matthew asked.

"Well, two men aren't able to have children." Arthur stated.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

"When a man and a woman love each other very much," Francis began, "they have children."

"But," Arthur added, "even if two men, or women, love each other, they can't have kids."

Matthew's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "So… How'd you get us?"

"Well, we adopted you." Francis said.

"But what does that mean?" Alfred asked.

"It means that we took you in to raise you because your parents couldn't take care of you." Francis explained.

A sad expression crossed the twins faces. "Why not?" Alfred questioned.

"You're mother didn't have the money to take care of you," Arthur began in a soothing tone, "so she gave you to us."

Matthew looked to the floor. "Did she love us?"

"Yes, she loved you very much, and that's why she gave you to us." Francis replied softly. "She wanted you to be happy."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't we be happy with her?"

"She didn't have the money to raise you," Arthur stated, "you would've been sad or hungry because she wouldn't have been able to feed you."

"So…" Matthew trailed off for a few moments. "She gave us to you, so we wouldn't be sad?"

" _Oui._ "

"Yes."

Alfred looked up to his blonde parents. "Do you love us?"

"With all of our hearts, _mon fils_." Francis smiled.

"What if we were your real kids?" Matthew asked.

"That wouldn't change anything," Arthur said shaking his head, "because we love you, and always will."

"We love you too." Matthew and Alfred said at the same time before tackling their parents in hugs.

The four of them laid contently on the ground together… Hugging until the young twin boys fell asleep on their fathers chests. Matthew on Arthur's chest, and Alfred on Francis' chest.

.

 _Goodnight_

"Daddy, we're ready for bed!" Arthur heard his twin boys call from their room.

"Coming!" Arthur replied, setting down his book and walking down the hall. He entered the small room. He saw the two small dressers, the blue and red toybox, their bunk bed where Matthew laid on the top bunk, and Alfred on the bottom bunk.

Arthur smiled. "Alright, I'm here, now what?" He said jokingly.

"Tuck us in." Alfred ordered.

Arthur placed his hands on his hips. "Why should I do that?"

"Because you love us." Matthew replied with a smile.

Arthur glanced up at Matthew. "You always use that against me."

"Well it's true and we know it!" Alfred exclaimed from the bottom bunk.

Arthur sighed. "Fine then, I guess I'll tuck you in."

"Yay!" Alfred replied.

Arthur bent down and kissed Alfred on the forehead, pulling his blankets up to his chin. "Goodnight, Alfred. I love you."

"I love you too." Alfred replied.

Arthur straightened his back and stood on his toes so he could reach Matthew. He gave Matthew a kiss on the forehead and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Goodnight, Matthew. I love you."

"I love you too." Matthew said tiredly. "Hey, Daddy."

"Yes?"

"Can you sing the song about Lucy?" Matthew asked.

Arthur let out a sigh.

"Yeah, we haven't asked at all this week." Alfred added. "Please?"

"Fine." Arthur replied. He cleared his throat, getting himself ready to sing. "Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies, somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly, a girl with kaleidoscope eyes. Cellophane flowers of _blue_ and _red_ -"

"No." Alfred cut off.

"What?" Arthur asked, fighting back a smile.

"It's flowers of _yellow_ and _green_ , not _blue_ and _red._ " Alfred fixed.

Arthur couldn't hold back his smile. He was purposely messing up the song so they could fix it for him, which was adorable. "Right, my mistake." Arthur paused before continuing. "Cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering over your head, look for the girl with the sun in her eyes, and she's gone… Lucy in the sky with _rubies_ -"

"No, it's _diamonds._ " Matthew interrupted.

"Hm?"

" _Diamonds._ " Matthew repeated. "Not _rubies._ "

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked.

"Yes." Matthew replied.

"Okay… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… Lucy in the sky with diamonds… _Oooooooooooohhhhhh-_ "

"No!" Alfred exclaimed.

"What this time?" Arthur asked.

"It's ' _aaaahhhhh'_ not ' _oooohhhhh_ '."

Arthur looked up to the ceiling. "Oh yeah. I'm sorry, I was thinking of another song."

"It's okay." Alfred said.

"Shall I continue?"

"Yes please." Both boys replied.

" _Picture yourself in a boat on a river-_ "

"You already sang that part." Matthew said.

"I did?" Arthur asked.

Matthew nodded. "Yeah. This part is the part with the _bridge by a fountain_."

"You're right." Arthur began, "Maybe you should sing it, I think I've forgotten it."

"No, you know it. Keep going." Alfred instructed.

Arthur decided that it was time that the twins should get some sleep, so he didn't mess up the rest of the song. By the end of the song, both boys were barely awake. Arthur smiled. This song has been able to relax them ever since they were newborns, and it still works at age six. Arthur turned the lamp off, exited the room, grabbed the handle of the door, and just before it was closed, he said one last thing. "Goodnight my sweet boys."

"Goodnight, Daddy." They both mumbled before the door closed.

* * *

I do **not** own the song "Lucy in the Sky" that was sang by Arthur. All credit to this song is given the "The Beatles".

I also do **not** own the song "Hush Little Baby". Part of this song was sang by Arthur. All credit should be given to its creator (that I do not know).

I am very sorry for the long wait, I didn't have all of this chapter thought out in my head when I posted chapter one, so once again, I am sorry you had to wait this long for me to post this chapter.

 **Translations**

 _Dieu Merci- Thank God (French)_

 _Oh mon dieu- Oh my God (French)_

 _Mes fils- My sons (French)_

 _Bonjour- Hello (French)_

 _Mon fils- My son (French)_

 **Extra Information:**

Alistair is Scotland, Patrick is Ireland and Dylan is Wales. They are Arthur's older brothers.

Alistair will be referred to as "Ali/Uncle Ali" by Arthur, Francis, Alfred and Matthew.

Patrick will be referred to as "Pat/Uncle Pat" by Arthur, Francis, Alfred and Matthew.

Dylan will be referred to as "Dyl/Uncle Dyl" by Arthur, Francis, Alfred and Matthew

Arthur will be referred to as "Art/Arty" by all three of his brothers.

Alistair was called "Awie" by both Matthew and Alfred in this chapter because neither one of them can pronounce their "L's".

 ***** Like always, feedback is welcomed and much needed, so please leave reviews! *****


	3. Emergency

Chapter 3

Emergency

Arthur yawned as he stared at the words in his book. Being a high school librarian, he ended up reading a lot, so most of the time he'd end up bringing home the occasional good book. He glanced up every few moments to make sure that his twin seven year old boys weren't destroying something. But each time he'd look up, they'd still be playing with their toy soldiers that Arthur had made for them.

Arthur heard the sound of his Frenchman running towards the living room from down the hall, so out of reflex, he shot his head up, tensed, and made sure that Francis wasn't about to tackle him off of the couch. But instead of tackling Arthur, Francis ran by the young twins, scooping up Alfred in his arms on the way by, and lying Alfred on his back on the seat next to Arthur. Arthur returned to his reading.

Alfred began giggling non stop which meant one thing- Francis was tickling him.

Francis laughed. "You think you can escape the Tickle Monster? Well, you can't!" Arthur's crazy husband exclaimed, purposely over exaggerating his accent.

Alfred replied with a short, high pitched scream and more laughing, which brought a smile to Arthur's face. Arthur lowered and closed his book. Yes, the book's plot was finally starting, and the action was picking up, but he had to watch this. It was always so adorable.

Francis began to make fake "roaring" sounds as he tickled helpless Little Alfred.

Brave Little Matthew ran up from behind Francis and began smacking him in the back.

"Oh, no!" Francis yelled loudly. "Matthew is attacking my weak spot!" Francis made fake grunts of pain as he fell onto his side and rolled onto his back. Matthew continued playfully smacking Francis on the chest, and Alfred jumped off the couch and joined him. Arthur's smile grew larger, and he let out a loud chuckle.

Francis shot his right arm up, holding out his hand to Arthur. " _Mon cher!_ " Francis paused. "Help me!" He pleaded.

Arthur shook his head. "No thanks. I'm siding with the boys on this one."

"But, Arthur!" Francis yelled. "They're attacking me!"

Arthur faked a scowl. "You started the fight."

" _S'il vous plaît!_ " Francis begged.

"No." Arthur said, forcing his voice to sound monotone.

Francis made more fake and over dramatic sounds of pain. "But… there… killing… me…"

Arthur gave his husband an unamused look and said nothing.

"Please… mercy…" Francis said before exhaling and playing dead.

Matthew and Alfred stopped hitting their French father and stared at him.

"Good job, boys." Arthur praised. "Now let's just see how long Papa can hold his breath." But Francis continued his act, and held his breath. So, naturally, Arthur uncrossed his legs and pushed on Francis' abdomen with his left foot.

Francis slowly exhaled, glaring up at Arthur.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You had to ruin it?" Francis teased.

Arthur gave Francis a slight smile. "Guess what, boys."

"What?" Alfred and Matthew asked simultaneously.

Arthur's slight smile turned into a devious one. "Your Papa," He began, leaning forward and setting the book that was on his lap onto the dark brown cushion beside him, "is also ticklish."

"He is?" Alfred asked, mimicking the same smile.

Francis' eyes widened. "Don't you do it."

"Yes he is." Arthur got down on the ground, sitting on his knees. "Right around the neck." Arthur attacked, quickly tickling Francis around the neck. Francis' body tensed and he tried to push Arthur away from him, but it didn't work, he was laughing too hard. Arthur saw Francis give him a quick glare as he tried to tickle him back, but he couldn't reach Arthur, who was also laughing.

The Englishman suddenly stopped, jerking his head up and looking at the wall across from him. "Bollocks." Arthur mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Francis asked, slowing down his breathing.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing, I just left some paperwork on my desk…" Arthur quickly turned his head to the twins. "Don't say that word."

"We know, Daddy." Matthew replied.

"Yeah, you said that last week." Alfred agreed with his brother.

"And the week before." Matthew added.

"I really need to work on my cursing, don't I?" Arthur murmured to himself.

" _Oui._ " Francis said in agreement.

Arthur scowled at his Frenchman. "You're one to talk? You curse in French all the time!"

"At least they can't understand it." Francis replied with a smile. "So, that paperwork, is it important?"

"Yes," Arthur began, looking up to the ceiling in thought. "but I'm pretty sure I can deal with it in the morning… No…" Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"No, what?" Francis asked.

Arthur sighed. "I need to go and get it. It's due in the morning…"

"Wow, you sound like a high schooler all over again." Francis teased.

"Yes, but if I don't turn it in, I'll get fired, not a zero on the assignment." Arthur moaned. "I have to go and get it."

"How long do you think you'll be?" Francis asked.

"Why?" Arthur replied.

"Well, I have to head to work in an hour. How long do you think you'll be?" Francis explained.

"Oh, probably thirty minutes at the most." Arthur said, standing.

Francis smiled. "Alright."

"Wait, where are you going?" Alfred asked.

"To work." Arthur responded, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the counter.

"But didn't you come home from work already?" Matthew replied.

Arthur glanced over to his sons. "Yes, but I left something really important there. I need to go and get it."

"How long will you be gone?" Alfred asked in almost a concerned tone.

"I'll be back in a little bit." Arthur reassured his son.

.

 _Four hours later_

Francis paced back and forth in his living room. Arthur had called four hours ago and told him that he found his paperwork and was going to stop by the gas station and put more gas in his car because it was running low. That should have only have taken a few minutes. So where the hell was he?

Francis called his work and told them that he wouldn't be able to come because Arthur hadn't returned yet. Where the hell was he? Francis put his phone to his ear and listened to it hum, tapping his foot on the wood floor. Once again, Arthur didn't pick up his phone. It went to his voicemail after a few rings. So, once again, Francis left a message.

"Arthur, _mon cher,_ please pick up the phone, you're scaring me and the kids… _Je t'aime…_ Francis…" He closed his phone, looking up to the ceiling.

Francis ran his fingers through his long blonde hair, sighing through his nose. "Boys!" He called. "Get your shoes on."

"Okay…" Alfred replied in an awkward tone. Matthew didn't respond.

Francis knew what gas station Arthur would be at, so he was going there.

"Where are we going?" Matthew asked, walking down the hall.

"To the gas station." Francis replied.

"Can I get a snack while we're there?" Alfred asked eagerly.

Francis grabbed the keys to his car. "Maybe."

"That always means no…" Alfred murmured to himself.

"Just come on." Francis ordered, pacing quickly to the door and opening it. He closed and locked it after all three of them walked onto the porch.

The car ride was silent, which was a surprise to Francis. He had expected his sons to be endlessly asking him questions, but they remained silent. Maybe they shared the same fear as Francis. He turned on his blinker on when he neared the left turn to the gas station. His chest tightened when he saw Arthur's car sitting in the parking lot… Alone… Empty…

Francis pulled his car into an empty parking spot with a sigh. "Stay here." Francis told his sons.

"But-" Alfred began.

"Just stay here." Francis ordered before getting out of the car and locking it behind him. Slowly, he made his way to the car still sitting at the pump, forgotten. He peered in through the window, being cautious not to touch any part of the car so his fingerprints wouldn't be on it. Inside the car he saw Arthur's cell phone. _Merde!_ Francis looked to the gas station… It was trashed. Francis went running to it, fear rising in his chest. He saw two shattered windows before he even go to the door.

Looking in through the glass, Francis could see toppled over aisles, things thrown and pushed onto the floor, and… _blood…_ Francis shuddered at the sight. Just the thought of Arthur being hurt… Francis shook his head, trying to push that thought out of his mind, and prayed that the blood he saw didn't belong to his Englishman.

.

 _Ring, Ring… Ring, Ring…_

Alistair sighed angrily, _I'm at work! Who the hell is calling me?_ Alistair looked down to his phone and at the caller I.D. It was Francis.

"What the hell, Francis? Shouldn't you be at work?" Alistair exclaimed.

" _Oui,_ but-"

"Then why are you calling? I know I'm just a night guard, but I need to keep this damn job!" Alistair interrupted.

"I'm not at work tonight because I haven't seen Arthur in four hours!" Francis yelled.

Alistair stared forward. "What?"

"He went to the school because he left some important paperwork there," the Frenchman began, "after he found it, he went to the gas station to get some gas and… hasn't returned…"

Alistair stayed completely still, barely even breathing, not saying a word.

"Ali?" Francis asked.

Alistair swallowed hard. "Art is… Missing?" The words that escaped his own lips hurt, but he had to make sure he was understanding this correctly.

Francis didn't respond.

"Is Art missing or am I misunderstanding this?" Alistair snapped.

"He's missing." Francis murmured on the other side of the phone.

"Then what the hell are you calling me for?" Alistair hissed, pulling a cigarette out of his chest pocket and lighting it, "Why aren't you calling the police?"

"I already did." Francis replied.

Alistair inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, calming himself. "Okay… thank you for calling." He exhaled. "I'll call my brothers for you, you just…" Alistair moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "talk to the police."

"You sure?" Francis asked.

"Yeah, you just talk to the police." Alistair mumbled.

"Okay, well _au revoir._ " Francis replied.

"Bye." Alistair said, hanging up.

.

 _Four Hours Earlier_

Arthur pressed the "1" button on his cell phone and placed it to his ear. He listened to it hum, waiting for Francis to pick up.

"What do you want?" Francis teased.

"I'm letting you know that I found my bloody paperwork and headed to the gas station." Arthur replied.

"Why?" Francis asked.

Arthur began driving towards the gas station. "Because I decided to procrastinate coming home and seeing your face, why the hell do you think?"

"You need gas?" Francis asked.

"Good job, Francis!" Arthur exclaimed in an over excited tone. "You're not a complete idiot!" Arthur teased, smiling.

Arthur heard Francis sigh on the other side of the phone. "You're so nice to me, you know that?"

"What did I say about bad sarcasm?" Arthur asked.

"How long do you think you'll be?" Francis said, changing the subject.

Arthur shook his head. "Not long, it's just down the road, I can already see it."

"Alright, be home soon, I need to get to work."

"I know. See you it in a little bit, Francis." Arthur responded.

"See you then, love you." Francis said.

"Love you too." Arthur replied, handing up.

He pulled into the gas station, placing his phone on the consul. He got out of the car, now standing by the pump. He placed the pump in the car and turned to the credit card swiper. It was out of order. Arthur moaned and sighed as he turned away from the credit card insert. He just wanted to go home. Arthur walked away from the pump and to the building in front of him. He ran his fingers through his hair with his right hand, and opened the door with his left.

"Afternoon, sir." The cashier greeted as Arthur stepped into the medium sized building.

"Afternoon." Arthur yawned, ignoring a strange feeling.

"What can I do for you?" The cashier questioned with a strange smile.

Arthur gave the young man a suspicious look before replying. "Twenty on pump three."

The clerk tilted his head. "That all for you today, sir?"

"Yes, sir." Arthur said, pulling out his credit card and handing it to the clerk. Arthur glanced out the front doors glass to see a man standing by his car. A man who gave him a horrible feeling. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the figure before shaking his head. _It's nothing, Arthur. It's just a man. Calm down._ But he didn't listen to himself. He could feel his pulse quicken slightly, and he felt sweat collect on his forehead. He patted his pockets for his cell phone, but of course, he left it in his car. Arthur turned to the cashier. "May I use your phone?" Arthur asked kindly, nodding his head toward the phone on the wall.

"Hm?" The cashier hummed.

"That phone, may I use it?" Arthur restated.

The man glanced back at it. "Why?"

Arthur wanted to kick this man. _Just give me the bloody phone!_ Arthur yelled in his mind. He cleared his throat. "There's a suspicious figure out there and I don't feel safe. May I use your phone to make a call?"

The clerk shook his head. "No."

Arthur tried to make his voice sound neutral, but it ended up sounding furious. "Care to tell me why?"

The man shrugged. "Not really."

Arthur grit his teeth to keep himself from yelling. "Is it out of order?" Arthur hissed.

The young cashier glanced at the phone, then back to Arthur. "Um…" He smiled, "only for you, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened as he backed away from the counter. This had to be some kind of joke, right? Arthur looked to the front door as it opened. That "suspicious figure" walked in, swiftly locking the door behind him. The man smiled at Arthur. "Afternoon, Arthur."

Arthur sprinted in the direction of the back door, not caring to reply. As he ran, he slid his left hand against every product on the shelf that was arm level. People needed to know that he was here. He needed to leave evidence. He reached the end of the aisle, and a gunshot from his left greeted him. Luckily, it missed. Arthur turned around and ran in the other direction, knocking down the aisle so it would hit the man who shot at him. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but all he knew was that he had to get out of the damn gas station. Another gunshot. It missed again, but it shattered the glass door to the cooler beside him. Arthur reached in as he ran, grabbing the first bottle he saw, which was a bottle of whiskey.

The cashier appeared out of nowhere, tackling Arthur, breaking another cooler door and some of the bottles inside. Luckily for Arthur, he grew up with his brothers, which meant he knew how to ground fight. Before anything, he smashed the bottle of whiskey against the cashier's jaw, then followed by elbowing him in the nose, probably breaking it. The cashier was dazed by the two hits, and Arthur kicked the young man, who must be barely twenty, off of him. Arthur stood again, and ran to the front door. Out of an impulse, he purposely cut open his hand with the broken bottle that he was still carrying. He sprinted by the white front counter, smearing his blood across it. People needed to know that he was here. He needed to leave evidence.

Another gunshot. It missed Arthur and shattered the glass of one of the front doors, which was exactly what Arthur was hoping for. He darted out the metal doorframe, smearing blood on the door that was still in tact. He dashed for his car, the gunshots behind him ceasing. He tried desperately to open his car door, but it was locked, and the keys were inside. Rage filled the Englishman. "How stupid am I?" Arthur screamed as he went running for the road. Maybe he could get someone to stop and help. As he ran, he streaked more blood on the windows of his car.

The blonde Englishman yelled and screamed, waving his hands as he got to the side of the road. A black car rolled up beside him. _Finally!_ Arthur thought, _I'm saved!_ He opened the back door and jumped into the vehicle before it even stopped moving. "To the police station!" Arthur ordered. "Please!" He begged. But the car didn't move. The man in the front passenger seat turned around, pointing a gun to Arthur's forehead. Arthur froze. "How stupid am I?" Arthur mumbled under his breath, staring up at the handgun. The door to his left opened, and that "suspicious figure" sat beside him, pulling out his own gun and placing it on Arthur's temple. All of the doors locked, and the car began moving.

"We gotta give ya credit," The suspicious figure began, looking Arthur in the eye, "you were harder to catch than we thought."

Arthur didn't care to reply, he just stared at the man with dark brown hair and a long scar traveling down the left side of his face and across his jawline.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _Mon cher- My dear (French)_

 _S'il vous plaît- Please (French)_

 _Je t'aime- I love you (French)_

 _Merde- Dammit/Shit/Fuck (French)_

 _Au revoir- Goodbye (French)_

 **Other Notes:**

If you've read my parallel story _Sollen Wir Tanzen?_ then you already know/hate "The Scarred Man" but here he is again and you will be seeing more of him (unfortunately).

There was a small part in Alistair's view, but don't worry, you'll see more of him.


	4. Restless

Chapter Four

Restless

"Is this a Febreze commercial?" Arthur asked sarcastically after many hours in a long car ride. "Because if it is, the Febreze isn't working, you smell like shit."

"This isn't a Febreze commercial." The man beside him snapped exhaustedly.

"So, what is this, then?" Arthur hissed beneath the bag over his head, "Human trafficking?"

Although Arthur could not see him, he could tell the man beside him was smiling. "Oh, Arthur, you're going to wish it was."

Arthur looked upward toward the top of the bag, thinking. "No, I probably won't. There's really nothing worse than that. I think I'd rather die."

A different man, according to the direction the voice came from, probably the driver, chuckled. "There are worse things than dying."

Arthur breathed slowly, fear tightening in his chest.

"What, no sarcastic remark this time?" The man beside him laughed.

Arthur closed his eyes tightly. For each passing hour of this endless car ride, Arthur had been masking his fear with anger, sarcasm, and unamusement. "How long until we get there?" Arthur snapped, "Let's just get this over with already!"

"Don't grow impatient on us, Art, I might just-"

Rage filled Arthur. " _Don't_ call me _Art!_ "

"Right, right," The man beside him began, "I almost forgot, only your three brothers can call you that, right?"

Arthur's eyes widened as he held his breath.

"Of course, you hate it when your brothers call you that. But, somehow, they're the only ones who you'll allow to call you 'Art' or 'Arty,' right?" The captor continued.

"How do you know that?" Arthur finally breathed.

The kidnapper chuckled. "You think we don't watch you? This wasn't a spontaneous decision. We've been planing this for months."

Arthur forced himself to continue breathing. "What?" He asked.

"I'm not going to give you too much detail. I'll just let all of this sink in." The man said, probably smiling.

The car suddenly stopped. Arthur began glancing from one side of the bag to the other. The car doors began opening. Arthur's entire body tensed. His car door opened and someone pulled him out and began walking him in a random direction. The sack was pulled off his head, but the sunlight that came from all directions was too bright, and Arthur had to squint to see. He only got a glimpse of the building before he was pushed into it. Arthur was in too much shock to struggle, so he walked slowly, dragging his feet. The hallways were large enough to fit two people standing side by side. The off white paint was peeling off the walls, the light brown carpet was stained, there were doors that led to rooms every few steps. This place looked like an abandoned hotel.

They winded down a few small hallways before they stopped in front of a room. Two men kept a tight hold on Arthur, whilst another unlocked the small, dark green door. The door clicked open and they threw Arthur into the small, secluded room. The door closed and locked again.

Too many emotions spun in Arthur's mind. He was furious, sad, terrified, and it ended up overwhelming him. He wanted to scream, cry, yell, sob, but when he turned around to do so, a young boy caught his gaze. Arthur held in his screams and sobs, and tried to force a composed look on his face, but instead he made himself look confused.

"Hello." The boy greeted.

"Uh," Arthur glanced around the room, which was missing the usual beds and air conditioner a normal hotel room would have, "hi."

The boy stared at him. Why was he staring at him? What did he want Arthur to do?

"Well, I'm Peter." The boy finally said.

"Peter? I-I-I'm Arthur." Arthur stuttered.

The boy nodded and looked away.

 _Dammit!_ Arthur closed his eyes. "So, uh, Peter… How old are you?"

Peter didn't hesitate before speaking. "Ten. You?"

"Me? I'm thirty." Arthur plastered on a fake smile, but he just made himself look even more terrified. "Where are your parents?" Arthur asked.

Peter looked back to Arthur. "I hope they're at home, but I don't know."

"Peter…" Arthur thought aloud. "I've heard your name before… Where do I know your name?"

"Oxenstierna?" Peter asked.

"Hm?" Arthur hummed, trying to force himself to stop quivering in fear.

"Peter Oxenstierna. Have you heard that before?"

Arthur pointed at the ten year old. "You were on the news."

Peter curled his knees up to his chest before wrapping his arms around them. "Not surprising." Peter rested his chin on his knees and stared at the stained carpet with a sigh.

Arthur walked a bit closer to the young boy before sitting down. Arthur wanted to comfort Peter, but how? Was he supposed to tell him that everything will be fine? Was he supposed to tell him that they'd get out of there? That he'd see his parents again? This was too stressful, and Arthur didn't know how to handle it.

A few hours passed, and nothing changed. Peter continued to sit in the corner of the room with his knees against his chest, but Arthur couldn't sit still. He shifted where he sat for about thirty minutes before deciding to stand. After he stood, he leaned his back against the wall, his shoulder against the wall, he shifted his weight. He finally realized that he wouldn't get comfortable any time soon, so he decided on pacing. He paced over to the door, then to the boarded up windows, then to the door, then to the boarded up windows, door, windows, door windows, door, windows…

Peter moved the first he had in what Arthur could guess was a few hours. Peter laid on his side, facing the wall. The poor boy was tired and scared, but then again, so was Arthur. Arthur sat on the floor by the wall to his left, then laid down. First he was on his right side, then his left, then his back, then his stomach. Right side again, left side again, his back again, his stomach again. Arthur twisted onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but would it really hurt to lie down and stare at the ceiling and just think? _Think? Think about what? Memories with my family? Whether or not my family is hurt? What they have in store for me? Escape?_ Arthur could almost laugh at that last thought. Although he didn't doubt his ability to conjure up an idea, or his ability to run or sneak out of there, he doubted his ability to do so with a ten year old. He couldn't get him and a ten year old out of there without one of them dying. Arthur sighed and closed his eyes, but he still didn't fall asleep.

.

It's been three days since Arthur went missing. Three days of Francis being unable to sleep, three days of worrying, three days of the twin seven year olds asking that same painful question "When's Daddy coming home?", and three days of Francis replying with that same empty answer "I don't know."

Francis laid on the couch with his right arm over his eyes, trying desperately to sleep. He set an alarm on his phone so he would still pick up Matthew and Alfred from school, but he doubted that he would need it. How could he sleep? People say that after a person has been missing for three days, they're probably dead or will never be found. That means that Arthur's dead. Francis fought tears at the mere thought.

Francis eventually calmed himself down, and began to drift off into a light doze. His phone rang. Francis groaned at the sound. Why did someone have to call _now_ of all times? Francis looked down at the I.D. on his cell phone, it was Alistair.

" _Oui,_ Alistair?" Francis mumbled.

"Hey," Alistair replied then stayed silent for a long moment.

Francis repositioned himself on his couch. "What do you need, Ali?"

"I'm just checking up on you. How are you?" Alistair asked.

Francis cleared his throat. "I'm doing well," He lied.

"Really?" Alistair questioned in an unamused tone. "Are you sure?"

The Kirkland family had the knack of sensing lies better than anyone in the entire world, and sometimes Francis forgot that. Arthur was great at detecting lies, Dylan was better, Patrick was even better, and no one could lie to Alistair without him knowing it. So naturally, Alistair caught Francis' lie. Francis sighed.

"How are you?" Alistair restated.

Francis didn't try lying again, so he decided to be brief. "As best as I can be."

"How are Alfred and Matthew?" Alistair asked.

"I don't think they really understand what's happening." Francis replied.

"Why do you say that?"

Francis rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They keep asking me when Arthur's going to come home."

"They're worried about their father, what do you expect?" Francis heard on the other end of the phone.

"I know, but…" Francis trailed off.

"It hurts to tell them that you don't know." Alistair finished.

" _Oui._ "

"How have you been sleeping?" Alistair asked.

It was a strange sounding question, but Francis answered. "Not well, but I've managed a to catch a few hours." To be truthful, Francis has only got two hours of sleep within the past three days. "What about you?"

Alistair stayed silent.

"Allie?"

"Same as you." He finally answered quickly. It was most likely a lie, but Francis didn't call him out on it.

Francis narrowed his eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be sleeping? You're a nightguard."

Alistair let out an irritated huff on the other side of the cell phone. "You asked me that same question yesterday, and my answer is the same."

Francis made a guilty face. "I forgot what your answer was."

Alistair paused, probably to inhale smoke from his cigarette. "I woke up early."

"Why?"

"Because I only managed to get one hour of sleep this time!" Alistair snapped.

Francis closed his eyes. "Sorry."

"For what?" Alistair asked quickly.

"That you can't sleep well." Francis answered.

"How the hell could I?" Alistair questioned in a strange tone.

"Uh, well-"

"That was rhetorical." Alistair interrupted.

Francis raised an eyebrow in confusion, but he decided not to ask. Instead, he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Allie, I have to go and pick up the boys."

"Hm? Right, you," Alistair cleared his throat, "go and do that. I'll, uh, talk to you later."

"Talk to you then. Hey, Allie?" Francis said quickly so he wouldn't hang up.

"What?"

"Do you think I could run the boys by your place before I head to work?" Francis began, "Laura can't babysit them today."

"Oh, that's fine." Alistair replied, "I was able to talk with my boss and change my shift so it doesn't start until after you get home."

"Really?" Francis exclaimed.

"Yes."

"That makes things much easier." Francis breathed. At least there was some good news within the past three days.

"Well, I'm going to let you pick up your sons." Alistair said. "Goodbye, Francis."

"Goodbye, Allie." Francis hung up.

.

"You need to eat." Arthur ordered, holding a small bowl of soup.

"The soup sucks and it makes my stomach hurt." Little Peter Oxenstierna mumbled.

Arthur sighed. "Peter, you need to eat."

Peter just looked at the soup with suspicious and cautious eyes.

"Please, Peter." Arthur begged.

Peter reached outward with careful hand, took the small bowl, and began slurping it down. Arthur looked up to the ceiling with a sigh then rubbed his eyes. Arthur was in a small car for hours upon hours to be thrown into a small room that looked like it belonged to an old hotel. When Arthur arrived in his small room, he couldn't just freak out, he had to be the strong one. He had to stay strong for this little boy that reminded him way too much of his own sons.

It wasn't in appearance. Yes, Peter did have dirty blonde hair like both Alfred and Matthew, and yes he had blue eyes like Alfred did, but it was mainly in personality. Peter and Alfred were both extroverts, loved meeting new people, and loved attention. Peter and Matthew have the same love for nature. Arthur sighed again.

"What? I'm eating." Peter exclaimed.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not sighing at you, I'm just…"

Peter stared at him.

"Thinking." Arthur lied, "I'm just thinking."

"About what?" Peter asked.

Arthur hadn't come up with a lie for that. "A way out." He lied again, softening his voice so only Peter could hear him.

Peter looked at the carpet floor. "Oh... Still?"

Arthur's face went neutral. "Yes."

"Come up with anything yet?" Peter asked excitedly.

A disappointed look appeared on the Englishman's face. "No."

"Oh."

Silence. Again. Maybe Arthur should get used to that. There really wasn't much to talk about, to be honest.

 _Click._

Arthur turned to the sound of the door opening. _Why are they opening the door? They already gave us food and water._ There stood the man who kidnapped him. The man with dark brown hair and a long scar traveling down the left side of his face and across his jawline.

"Kirkland." He said, almost like it was a disease. "Come here."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell should I?"

"We just need to talk to ya. It's just a harmless little chat, that's all." The man smiled.

A lie. An obvious lie. "You're lying." Arthur objected.

The man glared at Arthur. "You want me to 'talk' with Peter instead? I can't promise that talk will be as harmless."

Arthur stood. "Fine." He glanced back at Peter, who looked like he was about to cry.

"Where are they taking you?" Peter whispered.

Arthur shrugged in reply and followed the man. They slammed closed behind him and they led him through hallway after hallway. Eventually they entered a different room, a bigger room. Arthur slowed his pace, looking around the room suspiciously.

The scarred man turned around, wearing an evil grin. "Arthur, buddy, how are you?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, but didn't reply.

"I asked you a question."

Arthur stared at him. He wasn't going to talk to them. Any of them.

The man with the scar chuckled, stepping closer to Arthur. "When I ask questions," the man paused to deliver a powerful punch to Arthur's abdomen, forcing him to hunch over and gasp for air, "I expect an answer."

"And when I go to the gas station, I expect to come home." Arthur replied, glaring up at him. "But we don't always get what we want."

The scarred man laughed. "I do." He smiled.

Arthur straightened his back. "What do you want with me?"

"You never answered my question. Now I'm gonna repeat it for you, how are you, Arthur?"

"Angry." Arthur growled through grit teeth.

"I can tell."

"What do you want with me?" Arthur screamed.

"Now, now," The man with the scar began, wiggling his finger, "don't get impatient."

"Or what?" Arthur spat.

The smile on the man's face grew larger. "You really do ask stupid questions."

The man began beating on Arthur, punching him, kicking him, kneeing him. But Arthur didn't just stand by and take the abuse. After a few hits to the face, Arthur managed to shake the two people that were holding him, off of him and fight back. But it wasn't long until Arthur felt something cold and metal against his right wrist, then his left one. Finally the two men got a good hold on Arthur, and pushed him down to his knees.

"I really hoped you could be mature enough to where you didn't need the shackles." The scarred man panted, rubbing his knuckles that collected some of Arthur's blood.

Arthur glared up at him, panting. Out of the four people in the fight, Arthur took the hardest beating. It was three versus one, and Arthur lost. Just as he nearly caught his breath, a boot was forced into his stomach by a powerful kick.

"To answer your earlier question, we'll beat the shit out of you if you don't… cooperate."

Arthur spat a small amount of blood on the man's shoe in reply.

"To answer your even earlier question, we want money."

Arthur stared up at them. "How much?"

A devious smile grew on the scarred man's face. "A million."

"WHAT?" Arthur exclaimed. "I don't have nearly that much! I'm a librarian who's married to a cook! We don't have enough!"

"Your father does."

"He's in Britain!" Arthur yelled.

"Contact him."

Arthur scowled. "I can't! I'm here!"

"We don't care how ya get the money, just get it." The man explained.

"Maybe we can come to some kind of agreement." Arthur said, trying to negotiate.

"I'm listening."

Arthur softened his angry gaze. "You let me out of here, and I'll get it for you."

The man laughed hysterically. "Hell no. How do I know that you're not going to call the cops?"

"You said you were watching me. You told me that three days ago, did you not?"

The man with the scar scowled. "I told you that."

Arthur smiled. "They you'll see me, right? You have nothing to worry about."

"We're not letting you out."

"But-"

"We're not letting you out! We don't care how, but you'll get us the damn money!" The scarred man interrupted.

"I can't if I'm in here!" Arthur screamed back.

.

"Papa?"

Francis pulled his mind out of the white noise it was in and turned to his twin sons. " _Oui?_ " He asked.

They both looked scared. Sad. Hopeless. Francis has never seen them like this, even when he told them that Arthur was missing. "Daddy's not coming back, is he?" Alfred asked.

Francis had told them that Arthur was somewhere that no one knew where he was. He had told them that they might possibly never see their father again. But it has finally hit them. They may _never_ see Arthur again. Francis plastered a fake smile. "Why would you say that?"

"You said we won't see him again." Matthew whispered.

Francis got on the floor and pulled his sons closer to him. "I didn't say that. I said we might not see him again."

"But you're really sad! You know that he's not coming back!" Alfred exclaimed.

"No I don't." Francis replied, shaking his head.

"Then why are you acting like he's dead?" Alfred asked, looking at the floor.

Guilt hit Francis. He needs to have more faith in his Englishman. Arthur is very strong, and he'll be fine… Right? Francis shook his head, clearing his mind so he could answer his son's question. "Because I worry. Daddy's not dead, boys."

"So we'll find him?" Alfred asked excitedly.

Francis sighed. "I don't know."

"We won't find him, will we?" Matthew mumbled.

Francis closed his eyes. "I don't know."

* * *

 **I am really, really, really sorry for how long it's been taking me to update my stories, but trust me when I say, "I WILL LEAVE NO STORY UNFINISHED!", I've just been dealing with so much writer's block lately with both this story and "In the Looking Glass".**

 **Anyways, here we see some of what's going on with Arthur, Peter, Francis, and the twins.**

 **I hope you liked this chapter, and once again, sorry for the long wait. As always, please, please, please leave reviews, I need feedback, and your opinions are always appreciated.**

 **~Feliks out!**


	5. The Same Questions

Chapter 5

The Same Questions

 _Four Days Later..._

From the other room, Francis could hear the sound of his sons laughing. How could they be so happy? Their father would probably never come back, their father was probably dead. Francis closed his eyes with a sigh. But then again, Matthew and Alfred didn't understand what was happening. They will someday, and that day will break Francis. The day his sons realize that they'll never see Arthur again.

Francis leaned forward, placing his forehead in the palm of his hand. He forced his tears to wait until he was alone. Until later tonight where he wouldn't be able to sleep, and he'd end up crying in his bed until he left his room, and tried to sleep on the couch. He decided that he'd just sleep in the living room tonight. How could he sleep in his bed? All he had to do is look over to his right, and he'd see the empty space Arthur _should_ be. Francis sighed again.

The twins ran in the room, laughing happily. Francis sat up, faking a smile. Matthew gave Alfred a small push with his right hand. "Tag!" He yelled before running off. Alfred turned around and chased after his twin, laughing. Francis watched them go, wondering how the hell they could just _ignore_ their lives tailspinning in front of their very eyes.

Alfred chased Matthew back into the living room, probably trying to corner him.

"Papa! Protect me!" Matthew yelled, jumping up on the couch, and hiding behind Francis.

"Hey, that's no fair, Mattie." Alfred complained.

Strangely, a playful smile appeared on Francis' lips. He turned around quickly, grabbing ahold of Matthew, then turned back, still holding his son. "Get him, Alfred!" He yelled.

"No! Papa!" Matthew objected.

Alfred tagged him. "Tag." He teased.

"Get him, Matthew!" Francis ordered, letting go of Matthew, who sped through the house, quickly catching up to Alfred.

Francis leaned back on the couch, staring down the hall where he saw his sons run and disappear into their room. Francis sighed. _At least I still have them._

He heard whispering and giggling coming from his sons. What on earth were they talking about?

"Papa!" Matthew called.

"Papa!" Alfred repeated.

Francis sighed, standing up. "Coming." He replied. More giggling. Francis raised an eyebrow and strode down the hall. Right as he appeared in the doorway, he was hit in the face with a pillow. Francis caught the pillow as it went to fall to the ground. He narrowed his eyes. "Who threw this?" He asked in a teasing tone.

Alfred and Matthew pointed at each other.

"I see how it is." Francis began, "I treat you with love, I feed you, drive you to and from school, and this is how you treat me?"

His sons were smiling deviously.

Strangely, a playful smile appeared on Francis' lips. He threw the pillow back, hitting Alfred in the chest. Matthew responded by throwing his stuffed cat at him. Francis let out a sound of fake pain, stumbling back, holding the "wound" on his chest where the stuffed cat hit him. "No!" Francis yelled over exaggerating his slight French accent, "I can't die like this!"

Alfred responded with a giggle before throwing a stuffed dog at him, hitting Francis in the stomach. Francis yelled out in fake pain. He stumbled back more, hitting his back on the wall a little harder than he intended, and slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Francis thickened his accent as he spoke. "How could you do this to me? My own two sons?"

At the same time, Alfred and Matthew dropped their weapons, which were just pillows and stuffed animals, and ran to Francis, hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry!" Matthew exclaimed.

"Yeah, I am too!" Alfred added.

Francis smiled. "I'm just joking, you know."

"Yeah, we know." Alfred mumbled.

Francis laughed and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead. "I love you, _mes fils._ " He said, hugging them tightly. _At least I still have them._

.

 _Meanwhile…_

Arthur wiped warm tears away from Peter's eyes. "It's going to be okay, Peter."

Peter looked Arthur in the eye. "I'm never going to see my parents again, am I?'

Arthur froze. According to statistics, both he and Peter should be dead, so most likely not. But how the hell could he tell a ten year old boy that? "Don't think like that, Peter. You'll see them again."

Peter sniffled, unconvinced.

"Hey," Arthur began in a soothing tone. "you'll be fine, Peter. You'll make it out of here okay."

"You promise?"

Arthur smiled reassuringly. "I promise." _Why the hell did I promise that?_

Peter seemed to calm down. "But what if my parents don't pay?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Pay?"

"Yeah, the guys said that they had to pay money to get me back."

Arthur leaned his back against the wall, sitting beside Peter. "You're parents will pay."

"But what if they don't?" Peter asked.

"They will."

"But what if they d-"

"Peter," Arthur interrupted, "being a parent, I know that any parent would do _anything_ for their children."

A strange curiosity sparked in Peter's eyes. "You're a father?"

"Yes."

"How many kids do you have?" Peter questioned.

Arthur smiled peacefully. "I have two sons, twins, they are."

Peter started picking at the old carpet on the floor. "Is your wife pretty?"

Arthur laughed. "Yes he's very… beautiful."

Peter narrowed his eyebrows, still looking down at the carpet. "Did you say he?"

"No, I said she." Arthur lied.

"No, I'm pretty sure that you said 'Yes, _he's_ very beautiful.'" Peter argued.

Arthur sighed. He really didn't want to explain homosexuality to a ten year old.

"Are you like my dads?" Peter asked, looking back up to Arthur.

"Dads? You have two dads?"

Peter nodded. "Are you like my dads?"

Arthur looked to the boarded up windows. "Yes."

Silence. A sound Arthur still wasn't used to. _How am I going to get out of here?_ He took his eyes off of the boarded windows, and to the ten year old. _How am I going to get out of here, with Peter?_ Arthur sighed heavily with a groan. The window was probably the only way out, but Arthur had already thrown himself into it a few times to check how strong the wood was. No way to break the wood, not without something to break it. Probably after enough hits, Arthur could break the wood by throwing himself at it, but there's no way his captors would let that happen. This place was an old hotel, the walls weren't that thick, so they'd definitely hear it.

So Arthur had no plan. After what he could guess was a week, he still had no plan. It always seemed easier in suspense and action movies. Where the was a convenient pry bar or crowbar. A convenient hammer or the convenient person who knows how to pick a lock with a paperclip, that they conveniently had in their pocket. It wasn't that easy. Every plan that he's come up with requires a pry bar or hammer. There's no way he's ever getting out of here. He was going to die here, Peter alongside him. He was going to die.

.

"Thank you for doing this, Allie. Laura was busy and couldn't babysit today." Francis apologised as he slipped on a pair of brown shoes.

Alistair shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "Hey, I'll take any chance I get to see my nephews."

"I know," Francis replied, "but you're a night guard, you need to be sleeping."

"It's fine, Francis, go to work." Alistair ordered. To be honest, Alistair had barely slept ever since Arthur disappeared. He hadn't been in a good mood either, and he was really hoping the lighthearted conversations with his seven year old nephews would actually bring a _real_ smile to his face, even if it were only for a few seconds.

Alistair watched as the blonde Frenchman turned around, kneeled on the hardwood floor, and hugged his sons. "I love you _mes fils,_ I'll see you after work."

"Bye, Papa, love you." The twins said in unison.

"See ya, Frank." Alistair teased, giving Francis a small shove.

Francis looked to the redhead with depressed eyes. "Don't call me Frank. See you, Allie." He said before staring off at the boys, who were talking to each other, with a worried expression.

"Don't worry, Francis," Alistair reassured, "they'll be fine."

A smile appeared on the chef's face. "You're right, what am I worried about?"

"Exactly, you _know_ that I'll keep them safe." Alistair whispered.

Francis nodded, still looking down at his sons.

"You need to get to work." Alistair reminded, "I'll protect them. Nothing will happen to them."

"I need to get to work." Francis echoed before turning around and leaving the house, closing the door behind him.

Alistair stared blankly at the brown door for a long moment before turning to the boys, clasping his hands together, and forcing a smile. "So," He began, gaining their attention, "Matthew, Alfred…" He trailed off.

"Yeah?" Alfred questioned, excitement in his voice.

Alistair glanced from one side of the room to the next. "I have an idea…"

Matthew tilted his head, staring up at Alistair with his lavender eyes. "What's that?"

Alistair continued his fake smirk. "How about the three of us… Leave the house… And maybe, just maybe… Go out for some… Ice cream…?"

The twins gasped, and Alfred pumped his fists in the air. "Yeah, ice cream!" He cheered, whilst Matthew's face lit up in happiness as a large smile grew on his face.

Alistair's smile was no longer fake.

.

The drive wasn't too far, but it felt like Alistair was driving in wax, the car seemed to move so slow. It was probably tiredness. He had to focus harder than ever to just drive in a straight line. He really shouldn't be driving. Maybe some ice cream would give Alistair some of the energy that he lacked. He pulled into the ice cream shop parking lot before turning off his car and exiting. Matthew and Alfred ran up to Alistair with large smiles on their faces. Alistair ruffled their dirty blonde hair as they walked into the shop.

"What do you want, boys?" He asked as they got in line.

Alfred hummed in thought, looking at the flavors displayed. "Rainbow Birthday Cake." He stated, pointing.

Alistair turned his head away from Alfred, and to Matthew. "Alright, what about you, Mattie?"

"I think just vanilla." Matthew mumbled.

"Alright."

"What are you getting, Uncle Allie?" Alfred asked.

Alistair smiled down at the twins. "Chocolate." Although he was a bitter man, he really did have a sweet tooth, especially for chocolate.

"Oh yeah, you always get that." Alfred thought out loud.

"Can I help you today, sir?" The cashier asked with a kind smile. She probably wasn't much older than eighteen.

"Yes," Alistair began, walking up to the counter and pulling his wallet out of his pocket, "I'll have a bowl of Chocolate ice cream. I'll also have a small bowl with Rainbow Birthday Cake, and a small bowl of Vanilla."

"That it for you today, sir?" She asked.

Alistair nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"That'll be…" The cashier paused to type a few things into the computer she was standing at, "Nine dollars and thirty-five cents. And may I have a name for your order?"

"Alistair." He said, handing the cashier the money before stepping to the side, out of the line. "Have a nice day."

The cashier smiled. "You too."

Alistair stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing around the little ice cream shop. Nothing really had changed. Some autumn decorations had been hung up, but nothing really past that.

"Alistair?"

The redhead turned to the sound of his name, and retrieved the three cups of ice cream. "Here you go," Alistair mumbled, handing the cups of ice cream to his nephews before walking off, and sitting down at a table.

The chatter between the three of them was the same. The same questions of "How was school today?", "How are you?", "What did you do at recess?", "What did you learn today?", "How do you like your ice cream?", all those trivial questions... It seemed that Alistair actually enjoyed asking these questions before he had the thought of Arthur looming over his head. Now his questions came out awkward, and his answers sounded empty. But how couldn't they? He was tired, he was worried, how could he sound sincere about anything? Arthur, his youngest brother, was gone. Arthur, his youngest brother, was dead.

"Uncle Allie?"

Alistair blinked a few times before noticing that he was staring at the center of the table, and his ice cream was half melted. He looked up to the boys, who wore the same worried expression.

"Are you okay?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, Matthew, I'm fine." Alistair reassured.

"But you were staring at the table." Alfred stated, "Just like Papa does sometimes."

Alistair stared at Alfred. "Francis stares off?"

Matthew and Alfred nodded in unison.

"Yeah, but he always says that he was thinking, and when we ask what about, he always changes the subject." Alfred elaborated.

"He does?" Alistair asked.

"Yeah." Matthew muttered.

"So, what were you thinking about?" Alfred questioned.

Alistair blinked at the seven year old. Who knew an innocent conversation about school and ice cream could take such a sudden, unexpected turn? But then again, who knew Alistair's entire life could take such a sudden, unexpected turn? "To be honest," Alistair began, "I was thinking about your dad."

Matthew looked down at the table in sadness, but Alfred held his gaze. "Do _you_ know when Daddy's coming back?"

 _Why did Alfie have to ask that question? Why did we have to get on this topic?_ Alistair knew he couldn't just tell Alfred and Matthew that Arthur was probably never coming back, but he couldn't just lie and give them a fake date. He also knew that he couldn't say the same "I don't know" that Francis has been giving them, even though that isn't a bad answer. Alistair sighed. "I don't know." He mumbled, lowering his head in defeat.

"No one knows." Alfred grumbled in frustration, crossing his arms. "You're his brother!" He exclaimed, suddenly getting angry, "I _always_ know where Mattie is!"

Alistair closed his eyes.

"You _should_ know where Daddy is!"

Alfred wasn't making the guilt any better. "Alfie, please don't be angry with me." Alistair begged, "Trust me, I know you're sick of that answer, and I know it probably sounds like an excuse by now, but it isn't. I don't know where your he is."

Alfred started cry.

Matthew hugged him, trying to make him feel better.

Alistair leaned forward, grabbed one of Alfred's hands, and one of Matthew's hands. "Boys, listen. Your father is very strong and stubborn. You'll probably see him again." Alistair attempted reassurance.

Matthew visually deflated.

A depressed look appeared on Alfred's face. "Probably?"

* * *

 **Sorry for the feels, and I'm not going to lie, it doesn't get better anytime soon. More feels ahead! (Sorry)**

 **Also, sorry for taking so long to update, like I say a lot, writer's block has really been mean to me lately, and my busy school schedule isn't helping either.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	6. Get Used to It

Chapter 6

Get Used to It

Arthur paced back and forth in the room that seems to be getting more and more cramped with each passing day. It's not like they're putting more people in there, but Arthur is becoming a bit claustrophobic. Should he get used to that?

"Why are you pacing?" Peter asked.

That was a question Arthur has heard an annoying amount of times. Should he get used to that? "I don't know, I'm restless."

Peter cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

Arthur didn't feel like playing this game, so he only shook his head. He didn't feel like talking, he didn't feel like doing anything except running away, but that was impossible. Well, at least with Peter. Arthur couldn't leave a ten year old all alone in a cell with men who wants to kill him. Peter can't be alone again.

"You're quieter today." Peter concluded, stating the obvious, "Do you know something that I don't?"

 _Yes,_ Arthur thought, _I know that we can't get out unless they let us out, but that's never going to happen._ "No, Peter, I don't"

Peter scoffed.

"What?" Arthur asked accusingly.

Peter shook his head. "Nothing."

Arthur wanted to scream in frustration. Everything frustrated him, especially Peter not giving him a straight answer. But then again, Peter was probably frustrated by all of Arthur's lies. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I wish I was home with Mom and Dad."

Arthur stopped his pacing and turned to Peter. "Mom and Dad? Earlier you said you had two dads."

The boy shrugged. "Well, my dad, Berwald, calls my other dad, Tino, his 'wife'. Also Tino said I could call him Mom if I wanted to."

"Okay, thanks for clarifying."

Peter looked up to Arthur. "What do your sons call you? You said you have a husband."

Arthur sat on the ground. "They call me dad."

"So they call your husband mom?"

Arthur laughed for the first time in God knows how long. "No, they call him papa."

"Papa? That's what I call my grandfather." Peter commented.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, Francis is older than me."

Peter tilted his head to the side. "Francis?"

"My husband." Arthur was smiling as he answered Peter's question. He actually felt peaceful, so why not continue on this topic? It was a better topic than any other one. "Do you have any other family?"

Peter beamed a smile. "Yeah, I have three uncles."

"What are they like?"

"My uncle Matthias is really weird. My uncle Lukas is nice to me, but not Matthias, and there's my uncle Emil who's is kinda awkward around me. Uncle Emil is pretty quiet, too." Peter explained. "What about you? Do you have any uncles?" Peter exclaimed loudly.

Arthur shook his head. "No, both of my parents were only children. But I do have brothers."

Interest sparked in Peter's eyes. "What are they like?"

Arthur thought hard. How could he explain his brothers without cursing? "Well, I have three of them. Alistair, who's the oldest. He's kind of rude, and very blunt, but he has a soft side, which is my sons. Then there's Patrick, the second oldest, who is…" Arthur had to pause so he didn't call him a wanker. "He's very energetic, but he used to be pretty mean when he was younger. Finally there's Dylan, the third oldest. He's a lot like me, just a lot stranger."

"So not as much of a buzzkill?" Peter chuckled.

Arthur scowled. "What would make you think that I am a buzzkill?"

Peter smiled deviously. "I can just tell."

Arthur groaned and Peter laughed.

The door opened.

Arthur stood up protectively, and walked in front of Peter.

"Hey, boy." The man with the scar said in a strangely kind voice. Arthur narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Yes?" Peter asked cautiously.

"I'm gonna to take you home now, okay?"

"What?" Arthur exclaimed.

"Home?" Peter said with a desperate tone in his voice.

"Yeah, you're parents paid, you can go home now." The scarred man explained.

Confusion crossed Arthur. They actually kept their word? No, this has to be a trick, right?

"C'mon, I'll take you home now."

Peter jumped up from his sitting position on the floor.

"Wait." Arthur ordered, "This could be a trick."

"Hey!" The scarred leader exclaimed accusingly, "I may be a heartless bastard, but I keep my word! They paid, so he can go home."

Arthur looked to the floor. That didn't seem right, it sounded like a lie, but Peter needs to go home. He needs to be with his parents and uncles again. Arthur sighed. "Be careful, Peter." Arthur ordered.

"I will." Peter promised ecstatically before leaving.

The scarred man's smiled turned from kind, to devious as he looked to Arthur with a chuckle. He closed the door whilst a cold chill ran down Arthur's back. He began to pant, worrying for Peter. But why? He should be relieved, Peter was home and safe. Arthur had no one to protect, no one to fret about, no one to accidentally hurt, and now he could think of a way to get out without endangering anyone else. He looked to the ground, sadness filling him. Arthur was by himself. Alone. Completely alone… Should he get used to that?

.

"Kirkland, wake up!" The scarred leader yelled angrily as he slammed the door open, making Arthur jolt in surprise.

Arthur turned and glared at the man. "What the hell-"

The man interrupted. "We're leaving."

"Why-"

Arthur was interrupted again. "Get him. Put him in the car."

"Get away from me!" Arthur yelled protectively.

Two men came to him and grabbed him by the arms, and a third grabbed the chain between the shackles on Arthur's wrists. Anger flooded the Brit, and his eyes blazed. Arthur planted his feet on the ground, refusing to move. "Let go of me." He hissed.

"Walk!" The man to his right side ordered.

"No! Let go of me!"

The man with the scar turned around quickly and stormed into the room. "Kirkland, are we having a problem?"

"Let me go." Arthur ordered threateningly.

The man smirked, his scar curling slightly with his lips. "Give me the money."

Arthur intensified his glare, lowering his head, trying to intimidate. "I can't if I'm in here!"

The man's smile grew larger. In a quick motion, he pulled out his gun and placed it on Arthur's forehead. "What was that you said?" He asked cockily.

Arthur snorted and held his glare.

The scarred leader cocked the gun, making Arthur flinch. The man laughed while Arthur lowered his glare to the floor. "That's what I thought."

The men to Arthur's sides pushed him forward and lead him out of the hotel, and back into the damn black car. The threw a black sack over his head and sped away.

.

The sack was angrily ripped off of Arthur's head and a gun was shoved in his face, only centimeters away from his right eye. "Listen here, Kirkland," The man with the scar began, "we're at a hotel. We're gonna to get a room for one night, and don't ya dare try anything, get it?"

Arthur nodded.

"You and me are gonna get a room, understand?"

Arthur panted. "What are you planning on doing to me when we're in said room?"

The man's face fell neutral. "If you're thinking sex or anything, I'm not gonna do that to a _man_. Homos make me sick."

Arthur narrowed his eyes in anger. _Of course he's homophobic, that just makes everything so much easier for me._

The scarred man cleared his throat. "You're not gonna try anything, right?"

"I wouldn't dare." Arthur said hatefully.

"Unchain him." He ordered, getting out of the car.

Arthur thought of running right then, but they have a car. They can catch him. They have a gun. They can shoot him. Arthur sighed and exited the car. He walked even to the man who had a gun in his face only seconds ago. The same man who kidnapped him days ago. They came to the front door of the hotel. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't make me kill you, alright? Don't try anything." The man repeated.

"I won't."

They entered another hotel, but Arthur was glad that this one wasn't abandoned and didn't smell like mold.

"How may I help you two?" The clerk said, with a bored expression on her face.

"I need two rooms with two beds each." The man said.

"Can I get a name for that?"

The man paused, thinking of a lie. "Smith."

 _The most common last name? Really? Very creative. No one will suspect that._

"Sir, are you okay?"

Arthur turned his head to the clerk. "Me?"

She nodded.

"Oh, I… got in a fight…" Arthur lied, "you should see the other guy." He shrugged.

"Alright." She said suspiciously, "Mr. Smith, please fill out this information."

"Mr. Smith" nodded. "Of course." He said, pulling a pen out of the cup beside him.

Arthur pretended to sniffle loudly, trying to get the attention of the receptionist. It worked. Arthur slowly mouthed the words "Help me" to her. She narrowed her eyes, still staring. Arthur mouthed the words even slower this time, and she nodded once.

She cleared her throat. "What's your name? You're kinda cute."

"Mine? It's Smith." The man with the scar answered.

"No. Yours." She said, nodding to Arthur. "I'm Wendy."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but "Smith" interrupted him, not looking up from the paper he was currently writing on. "His name is Chris."

Wendy looked to Arthur and Arthur shook his head slightly. Wendy blinked at him. Slowly and cautiously, Arthur mouthed his name to her. Wendy cocked her head in confusion, and Arthur repeated himself silently. She wrote something down.

"Here you go, Wendy." Smith said with a wink.

Wendy delivered a fake smile. "Room two twelve." She said, handing him a key.

"Thank you," Smith began, "we're going to grab our stuff."

"Okie dokie." She replied.

"Smith" lead them outside and to the car. "We can't stay here."

Cold fear shot through Arthur's chest.

"What? Why not?" Someone else argued.

The man with the scar ignored him. "Get in the car, Kirkland."

"No." Arthur hissed.

"Get in the fuckin' car!" He screamed, pushing Arthur into the car.

Arthur was pushed down, but before he was completely shoved in the car, and Arthur saw Wendy through the window, watching in horror. Once inside, the car began moving, and the sack was on Arthur's head once again. The black sack was something that Arthur was sick of. Should he get used to that?

.

Arthur fell to the ground, pain in his entire body. He had been taken to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, shoved into a somewhat large room, and beaten unconscious. And when he woke, he was knocked out again after another short beating. The second time Arthur woke, he was beaten loopy, and thrown into a cramped room made of cement. There was only one way out, and that was to get on the other side of that large, heavy, metal door. But that was impossible. The room was cold, and badly lit, with a single lightbulb hanging from a single chain.

His body ached, he was bleeding and bruised. He had been beaten before, but nothing this bad. Nothing like this. They said it was because he told the receptionist. So "Smith" did see that. Arthur moved to the wall to the left, leaning his shoulder against the corner, and he stretched his legs in front of him. He stared down at his feet, on shoe was missing, and Arthur wasn't really sure why.

He groaned in pain as he shifted uncomfortably. _This pain is probably only the beginning, Arthur, get used to it._

.

 _12:00 a.m._

Francis mindlessly flipped through channel after channel, zoning out at the flashing colors. He stopped on the News station which brought him back to the real world. A short, blonde woman who was probably around thirty was standing there. Her name read Wendy Zane. The news reporter was talking, so Francis turned up the volume.

" _The case of Arthur Kirkland, a school librarian, husband, and father was kidnapped two weeks ago without a trace, well at least until Wendy Zane came to us with new information. She was working at her hotel called 'The Kickback Inn' in Missouri, when a man with a scar came to her with Arthur Kirkland…"_

The news reporter silenced and it cut to Wendy speaking.

" _Something seemed off with them, but I couldn't put my finger on it."_ She said, " _I realized that the blonde one, Arthur Kirkland, had bruises on his face, his hair was very messy, he looked very tired, and he reeked. I asked him if he was okay, but he said he just got in a fight. The man who was with him, named Smith, started filling out some information, and Arthur mouthed the words 'Help me' to me, and I knew I had to do something."_ She explained, " _I asked for his name, and Smith said it was Chris, but then Kirkland shook his head at me, and mouthed his real name, but I couldn't make it all out. I could make out 'Kirkland', but that's it. Then I remembered the news talking about Arthur Kirkland, and he matched the pictures of him. On their way out, I heard Smith yell 'Get in the fucking car!' and then shove Kirkland in it, and they sped off. I didn't get their license plate, unfortunately..."_

The news reported cut back, but Francis didn't hear it. He stared at the screen. _He's alive?_ Francis thought. _He's really alive?_ Tears rolled down Francis' face. Although he wasn't with him, Arthur was alive. There was some hope.

* * *

 **An entire chapter about Arthur, well, almost. Francis has hope now, and Arthur has been moved to the familiar warehouse seen in** _ **Sollen Wir Tanzen?**_ **(if you read it).**

 **Reviews?**

 **~Feliks Out (^J^)**


	7. Fifty-Fifty

Chapter 7

Fifty-Fifty

Over the past two weeks, Francis had barely been able to sleep, until last night. Although last night's newscast could only calm him down so much, he was finally able to sleep. He fell asleep on the couch, the T.V. turned off, and the house silent. That is, until Francis' phone began to ring. At first, Francis thought it was just his alarm, telling him that he had to be up, but when he went to press the "snooze" button, he was the name _Alistair_ instead. Francis yawned loudly and stretched, before answering the phone.

"Hello?" Francis asked.

Alistair paused before speaking. "Did I wake you?"

" _Oui_ , it's alright, though. What's up?" Francis answered.

"I woke you up? Just now?" Alistair asked again.

" _Oui._ "

"At noon?" Alistair added.

Francis turned his head to the clock that sat on the wall. It read 12:05. "What?" He exclaimed.

Alistair chuckled. "I'm guessing you finally got that sleep you've been missing out on."

"I guess." Francis replied. "Anyway, what do you need?"

"Did you hear that newscast last night?"

Francis smiled. " _Oui,_ great news, right?"

Alistair paused again. "As great as we can get, I suppose."

"It's the best news we've heard in two weeks."

"What is?"

Francis turned his head and looked behind the couch to see Alfred and Matthew standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a cookie in each of their hands. "What are you two doing up?" Francis questioned.

"What?" Alistair asked in his ear.

"Not talking to you." Francis replied.

"Are those the boys? Tell them I said hi." Alistair ordered.

"I will, just hold on for a second." Francis lowered the phone from his ear. "What are you two doing up?" Francis asked again.

"It's twelve." Matthew stated simply.

"We didn't want to wake you." Alfred added.

Francis drew his eyebrows together. "Why not?"

"You haven't been sleeping well." Matthew replied quietly.

Francis sighed, dipping his head slightly. _Sometimes I forget how well he can read people._

"So what news?" Alfred asked again.

Francis looked back up to Alfred. " _Quoi?_ "

"What news is great?" Alfred restated.

Francis smiled. "I'll tell you in a minute, I'm on the phone."

"With who? Is it Uncle Allie? Tell him I said hi!" Alfred said quickly.

"I say hi, too!" Matthew exclaimed.

"Yes, It's Allie. He says hi to both of you." Francis paused and put the phone back to his ear. "The boys say hi."

"Aw." Alistair commented.

"Anyway, what about the newscast?" Francis said, putting Alistair back on topic.

"Nothing, I was just making sure that you heard it."

"Well I did." Francis replied.

Alistair paused. "What do you think?"

Francis drew his eyebrows together. "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you think he has a chance?" Alistair restated.

Francis held his breath as he thought, he glanced at his sons, then looked back forward. "Give me a second, I'm going to step outside."

"What?" Alfred and Matthew exclaimed.

"Boys, calm down, it's just for a minute-"

"You're talking about Dad, aren't you?" Alfred interrupted.

Francis stopped in place. "What?"

Alfred looked to the floor, then back up at Francis. "You're talking about Dad… aren't you?"

Francis closed his eyes. " _Oui,_ but-"

"We deserve to know." Matthew interrupted, "He's our Dad!"

"I know, boys, I know. I'll talk to you in a minute, I just need to talk to your uncle right now."

Both of his sons stared down at the floor.

Francis sighed and kneeled in front of them. "I will tell you, just give me a few minutes to talk to Allie."

"Okay." Alfred replied while Matthew nodded.

"Be right back." Francis said, standing and walking out onto the back porch. "So, you asked me if I thought Arthur had a chance, right?"

"Yes." Alistair verified.

Francis let out a huff. "Maybe." It hurt him to say it, but there was still a large chance that no one would find Arthur, ever.

Alistair didn't reply.

Francis felt horrible, not having any faith in his husband. But last night proved one thing: there was a chance. "I mean, it's very possible that he's still alive, and may even be found, Allie, I'm just…" He trailed off.

"You're just what?" Alistair prompted.

"Preparing for the worst?"

Alistair sighed. "You sound unsure about that."

"Well…" Francis paused, "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

Francis closed his eyes. "I don't know what to think."

"About what?"

"What do you think? Arthur! I don't know what to do! He was gone, then he shows up, just to disappear again!" Francis began crying. "It's like a tease…"

Alistair was silent on the other side of the phone.

"Listen, Allie, I'm sorry for yelling-"

"It's fine, Francis, you're under a lot of stress. Trust me, you have no idea how many people I've almost punched at work over the past few days." Alistair reassured.

Francis chuckled, wiping away tears. "Sounds like you need a day off."

"That's the last thing I need. Work keeps me distracted." Alistair replied.

The small smile that was on Francis' face disappeared. "I guess you're right. I seem less emotional at work."

Alistair sighed on the other end of the phone.

"Well, I guess talk to you later?" Francis asked.

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later."

"Alright, _au revoir._ " Francis said.

"See ya." Alistair hung up.

Francis stood in the chilly autumn air for a moment, trying to calm himself down, and make sure it didn't look like he was crying. He turned around and walked back in the house, where the boys were waiting patiently at the table for him. Francis sat across from Alfred, Matthew sitting to his right.

"So what's the news?" Alfred immediately asked.

Francis sighed. "Last night, there was a report that someone saw your father."

Alfred and Matthew gasped. "They found him?" Matthew exclaimed with a hopeful voice.

Francis shook his head. "No, they didn't find him, but they now have leads."

"Leads?" Alfred asked.

" _Oui,_ they have some clues on where to find him." Francis explained.

"So they will find Dad?" Matthew asked, tilting his head to the side.

"They might." Francis corrected.

"What are they chances?" Alfred asked.

Francis looked up to the ceiling. "Fifty-fifty."

"Which means…?" Alfred said, prompting Francis to explain.

Francis rubbed the back of his neck. "They might find him, but they might not. Both possibilities are equal."

"Oh." Alfred said, visually deflating.

"Cheer up, Al. They have a fifty percent chance of finding Dad!" Matthew reassured.

For some reason, that simple sentence even cheered up Francis. He knew that they had that much of a chance of finding Arthur, probably lower than that, but for some reason, the sadness and distress that Francis had been feeling earlier was replaced with innocent, optimistic hope.

.

Arthur shivered in the cold, badly-lit cement box that he was trapped in. He glared forward at the steel door in front of him. Beyond that door was his only escape. He had to overcome that obstacle. But how? All he had was a flickering lightbulb, a chain, and himself. It's not like he could muscle the door open, he had been beaten today and yesterday. Let alone the lack of food and water. Even before this, he couldn't open that door.

He had searched the cement floor countless times for something to use, but there was nothing. No convenient paperclip to pick the lock of the door with, _if_ Arthur could even lockpick. He could figure it out, what else was he doing? But wait, there wasn't a handle to the door on this side, they had removed it and filled the hole in the door with cement, so even that wouldn't work.

Everything angered and frustrated Arthur to the breaking point. He just wanted to scream. He wanted to slam himself against the door enough times that it would either break open the door, or kill him. He didn't want this torture. He either wanted to die, or get out. All he needed was to get past that shiny, silver, heavy, metal door.

The only way to do that was to wait for "Smith" to open the door to come and get him for another random beating. Then he could run. So what if Arthur had only one shoe? He could still run on the gravel and pavement, all it would take is for him to tell himself that he doesn't feel it, and wait for the adrenaline to kick in, then he won't feel it at all.

But what were the chances of getting away? He had a fifty percent chance of getting shot, a forty-nine percent chance of getting caught, and a one percent chance of getting away. So those were his choices. Arthur wanted to either die, or get away, and the biggest chance was that he'd die. _Fine,_ Arthur thought, _it's probably better than this anyway._

* * *

 **Francis finally got some good sleep! Yay!**

 **Besides that, it's a pretty emotional chapter. Anyway, again, sorry for the long wait, and I'm sorry that I haven't updated** _ **Healing**_ **and** _ **In the Looking Glass**_ **in a long time, I've been having trouble with writer's block.**

 **~Feliks Out (^J^)**


	8. Run

Chapter 8

Run

"Hey, Arth-"

Arthur interrupted whoever the hell it was by slamming himself against the door that was in the middle of cracking open. He smashed the man behind the door against the wall as he ran down the hallway, running as fast as possible. If he was going to get out, today would be the day.

He sprinted down the hall, his surroundings a blur as he sped past them. He heard the man yell behind him, but he didn't pay attention to it. He needed to get out. He needed to escape. Arthur turned a tight corner where he saw more men.

"HEY!" They yelled, but Arthur continued running towards them. One ran down the hall directly at him, and Arthur dodged him at the last moment, whilst the other attempted tackling him, but Arthur moved out of the way, and continued sprinting, pounding his feet against the cement floor.

He made a quick right turn, and he was tackled from the left. "NO!" Arthur screamed as he fell to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled with the man on him, and fought as hard as possible. When Arthur finally had the advantage, he tried running, but he ended up getting the chain of his shackles stuck around the man's neck. A pistol was pressed against his temple, but Arthur didn't freeze in fear. Instead, he glared up at the man with the scar.

"Maybe you should stop." The scarred man said in a strangely calm and tired voice.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

He cackled. "Wow, I know I'm beatin' you hard, I but didn't think I was beatin' you _that_ hard. There's a gun in your face."

"And?" Arthur challenged.

" _And_ , I can very easily and very quickly kill you with it." The man who called himself "Smith" explained.

Arthur smiled. "And?"

"You know what death is, right?"

"Of course." Arthur began, "I just realized that the fear of it is… irrational."

The grin on the scarred man's face dropped. "All of a sudden?"

"Yes." Arthur replied.

"Smith" laughed insanely. "Well, I don't wanna kill you... For many reasons."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

" _Yet_ , I mean." The man with the scar added.

"Like what?" Arthur asked, masking his fear with anger.

"Money. Torture. Fun." Smith stated simply.

"For _fun!_ " Arthur yelled only seconds before he was hit on the head with the butt-end of the gun, and was knocked out.

.

Arthur's mind was running off of limited energy. His body was weak and beaten, and he didn't think he'd ever get used to it. His thoughts continued to wander back to the conversation between him and the man with the scar. How the hell was he supposed to get _one million dollars?_ It wasn't possible. Not in here. If he was out there, back in the world, then things would be different, then he'd have the money. Sure, he and his father didn't have the closest relationship, but he would be able to get the million from him.

"I know you're awake."

 _Dammit!_ Arthur thought at the sound of "Smith's" voice. Arthur raised his head, stretching his back, and standing with a grunt.

"Trying to sit there and wait until I lose interest?" The scarred man asked with a grin.

"Shut up." Arthur hissed.

"Oh, right, I forgot, _you're_ the one in charge." He said sarcastically.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the horrible sarcasm.

"What?"

"Nothing." Arthur replied.

The man with the scar stood up from his wooden chair, and picked up a metal baseball bat. "You know what the punishment is around here, don't you?"

Arthur didn't reply, he just eyed the baseball bat in his right hand. Oh, God he didn't want _another_ beating. He gulped. "Yes."

"There's your fear." Smith commented sadistically.

Arthur panted, trying to swallow his fear. _Dammit, Arthur, don't let him know you're scared._ He shook his head. "No."

"Don't lie to me," The scarred man began before hitting Arthur in the left ribcage with the bat, "it offends me."

Arthur's breath escaped his lungs from the hit, and he fell down to his knees.

The man laughed. "You're much weaker than I remember. You can usually stay on your feet. What happened to not letting me have the satisfaction of beating you to the ground?"

Although Arthur's shackles were attached to a pole to keep him in place, he fought against it. He stood and pulled against the chain, trying to gain his freedom.

An even more powerful hit to the stomach sent Arthur down to the ground again, and the man with the scar laughed. "You're so pathetic."

He bent down to Arthur's level, and wrapped his hand around Arthur's throat, and pushed him against the post behind him. "It would be so easy to kill you right now." He commented. "Why shouldn't I?"

Arthur could barely breathe. His hand was tight against Arthur's throat, but "Smith" allowed some air to enter and exit his lungs.

The man tightened his grip on Arthur's throat, cutting off all breathing. "I asked you a question."

Arthur struggled against him. He tried to use his hands to pry the man with the scar off of him, but they were restrained. He turned his head from side to side, trying to use his head and shoulders to break free. The man finally let go of Arthur's throat, and Arthur desperately gasped for air.

"Pathetic." The scarred man commented with a bored expression.

Arthur started coughing, looking down at the ground. He wanted to attack and kill this man. But how?

.

"Run, Matthew! Run!" Francis yelled desperately. "Avenge me!"

Matthew followed his father's orders and ran towards Alfred, wielding a pillow as a weapon. Francis smiled as he saw his twin sons pillow-fighting on the couch.

"You killed Papa!" Matthew yelled, hitting Alfred in the head with the pillow.

"No I didn't! It was Spot!" Alfred objected, pointing to the stuffed rabbit sitting on the coffee table.

Francis, playing along, looked to Spot with an offended glare. "Spot! How could you!" He yelled, thickening his accent to it would make the boys laugh. "I thought we were friends! You even blamed my death on my son! You evil, evil bunny!"

"Die, Spot!" Alfred yelled angrily, throwing his pillow at the stuffed rabbit.

"Yeah! Die!" Matthew yelled, agreeing with his twin and throwing his pillow at Spot.

Matthew and Alfred ran to Francis' sides like he was a dying character in an action movie. "Make sure… that Spot's… actually dead…" Francis said, pretending like he was dying, "...he's a very… tricky… bunny…" He exhaled and held his breath.

"Papa, we know you're alive." Matthew said, patting his chest.

"Yeah, Papa, we know." Alfred agreed.

Francis opened one blue eye. "Dang it, I thought I got you this time."

"No, because we're too smart!" Alfred explained.

Francis propped himself up on his elbows. "Oh, really. How smart?"

"Smarter than you!" Alfred exclaimed, pointing at Francis' face.

"Naturally." Francis commented. "I can be pretty dumb sometimes."

"No," Matthew objected, "you're not dumb!"

Francis smiled at Matthew. "Thank you." He said, pulling his twin sons into a large hug. _At least I still have them._

.

Arthur's body ached more than ever. He glared forward at the door in hatred. He hated everything right now. He just wanted to kill whoever got in his way of getting back to his family. But how? What was he supposed to do? Get a gun from them? That couldn't be too hard. They point those things at him with every chance they get. It couldn't be too hard to disarm one of them. And shoot them, kill them… All of them... For some reason, that thought brought a smile to Arthur's face.

* * *

 **More with Arthur, things are getting pretty fast-paced.**

 **-Some cute stuff with Papa Francis, though!**

 **Nothing else to say, except for a** _ **HUGE THANK YOU**_ **to all my followers and favorite-ers (-is that a word? You get what I mean)**

 **~Anywho, Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	9. Mood Swings

Chapter 9

Mood Swings

Arthur stared at the metal door, again. He'd been doing this for a long time, and his eyes were getting tired. But he was waiting. Patiently.

He's heard many sounds on the other side of that door, so many voices from the men who stand just outside it. Arthur stood, tapping his left foot on the ground, although his legs were sore. He inhaled, stretching his back, popping it loudly. He leaned against the wall, still waiting.

Earlier, when they took him out of the room and beat him, then put him back in, he could tell it was morning. Which meant it was afternoon now. He'd been counting the minutes and hours. It's been four hours. Arthur sighed. How long would it take?

Still counting the minutes, Arthur concluded that another hour had passed. He was growing impatient. He was tapping his fingers on the wall behind him, hoping, waiting, for that door to open. If he was going to get out, today would be the day.

And it came. The door began to unlock, so Arthur prepared himself. He stood up from the wall he was leaning against, and slouched slightly, readying himself to sprint. He narrowed his eyes, waiting. It opened.

Arthur sprinted at the door, slipping through the opening and running past who was standing there with a plate of food. He's only ran this fast once in his life, and that was just a few days ago. He was hurting more than last time, but this time he was more determined, and had timed it better. There were less people in the hallway, only the man behind he was in pursuit, for now, at least. He ran out of the hallway, checking before he turned to the right, instead of the left.

"Hey!" Arthur heard behind him, but he just quickened his pace.

His eyes were now locked on a different door, still metal, but rusted and had a handle on both sides. Arthur ran straight for it, opening it with his right shackled hand, then picking up his pace again. He made it outside.

Like he had already seen, there was gravel everywhere. Arthur ran on it, his shoeless left foot aching in pain with each step, but he blocked it out. He could see the woods in the distance, which is exactly where he needed to go.

Behind him, Arthur could've sworn he heard someone yell "Shoot him!", so Arthur knew he only had limited time, he needed to get to the trees. Still running, Arthur glanced behind him, trying to see how many people were in pursuit. Too many. He could count five men, each of them holding a gun in their hands. "Fuck!" Arthur breathed as he turned back around, and continued running.

Finally, his feet were off the gravel. Arthur ran into the wooded area, grass and dirt beneath him. It was so much easier to run this way, without rocks stabbing his left foot with each step. He dodged trees and hurdled rocks. Strangely, Arthur heard no gunfire. For a while back there, if they were as good as shots as they claimed to be, they could've killed him easily. Maybe they didn't want to kill him, at least not yet. Maybe someone yelled "Don't shoot him!", and Arthur only heard part of it. That would be a miracle.

Finally, after running so long, Arthur could hear the highway. The highway was safety, that's where he could get help, have someone call the police, and finally go home. _Home,_ Arthur thought, _now that would be a miracle…_ The highway got louder as Arthur heard cars roaring by. Just if he could get there.

He could see it through the trees, he was so close to freedom. But, at the worst moment possible, Arthur felt stabbing pain in his left forearm as a german shepherd, that Arthur didn't know his captors had, bit him and pulled him to the ground.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, trying to resist the angry animal that tore open his arm. He ripped his arm out of the dog's mouth and tried to pull himself back onto his feet, but the dog got him by the ankle, and pulled him back down, making Arthur land directly on his face. He turned, and with his other foot, kicked the shepherd in the muzzle, making it yipe and let go of him.

Quickly, Arthur jumped to his feet, and tried running again. The dog's bite to his ankle wasn't too bad, he could keep going. But, once again, and the worst moment possible, someone tackled him from behind.

"HELP!" Arthur screamed as he hit the ground, hoping desperately that someone decided to go for a walk in the woods, or hear him from the highway. "HELP!" Arthur yelled out again.

The man on his back smacked a hand over Arthur's mouth and muffled his scream. He was forcefully pulled to his feet and backwards. He started to randomly scream, hoping that someone would hear. Arthur fought against the man behind him, desperately trying to break free. He was so close.

Arthur was able to get the man's hand off of his mouth, and deliver another kick to the growling animal beside him. "HELP! HELP!" He yelled again.

In the corner of his eye, Arthur saw another man run up. The other man put his hand on the left side of Arthur's face and tilted his head to the right. "What are you doing?" Arthur exclaimed before a hand was slapped over his mouth again.

He felt a small pinch in the left side of his neck, then he realized what was in his neck; a needle, that was injecting him with… something. But what? Arthur began thrashing his body, trying to break free, and keep whatever was in that needle from entering his body.

After a few seconds of the captors holding onto Arthur and waiting for the injection to take effect, Arthur felt drowsy and passed out.

.

"Arthur? You awake? I can tell you are, you're moving around, give me some sign."

It was dark in the cell, or it seemed like it. When Arthur picked up his head, it took a moment for the world to catch up.

"Arthur?"

Arthur groaned in reply, his body aching. He wasn't sure what was happening. He turned his head in the direction of the sound to see a figure. But who was it? "Who…?"

The figure laughed, shaking its head. "You're still pretty drugged up, aren't ya?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Drugged… up?"

The figure laughed again. "I'll come back later."

"What's happ'ing?" Arthur slurred.

The figure squatted down in front of him with a chuckle. "Yeah, we put drugs in ya, you tried to get away."

"Get away…" Arthur echoed, his drugged mind trying to make sense of the information given to him. He tried to rub his face with his hand, but they were restrained by… something. It was shiny and metal, but he couldn't think of the name of it.

"That's shackles." The figure explained. "Remember? I gave them to ya a while ago."

Arthur dropped his head to the floor hard, but he only sort of felt it.

"Oh, don't hurt yourself. It's my job to hurt you."

Arthur closed his eyes and fell back unconscious.

.

After Arthur fully regained his consciousness, he had been horribly, severely beaten, like nothing before. He almost got away. He was so close. Everything hurt, it hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. He was in agony.

When he first woke up today, he was sadder than ever. He had a dream about he and Francis with their sons happily in the backyard playing tag, Matthew and Alfred's favorite game. He woke up crying.

After that, he was pulled out of the room for a short beating, so he was scared. Over the days he had been at the warehouse, he had become more and more scared of "Smith" and what he could do.

Then he was bored, pacing back and forth through the cell, tapping his fingers on his thighs, and giving a small nudge to the wall with his foot each time he came to it.

Then he was determined. He decided that he was getting out today, so he waited patiently for that damn door to open, and when it did, he booked it. A mixture of emotions pumped through him alongside the adrenaline. Fear, determination, courage, and happiness.

But, he was caught, then he was dreadful, sad and scared. No, terrified. He didn't want to know what the scarred man would do to him when he got back. He prayed that the injection was lethal or poison, or something, but when he woke up, the beat the hell out of him.

So, back to the small cement room, and Arthur is in agonising pain as cold fear shot through his veins. But that doesn't last long.

Anger replaces that fear. No, not anger, anger is much to light. Hate replaced the fear. He wanted to beat _them_ for a change. He needed to get out. And right when Arthur thought they had mercy, it turns out, that the killed Peter. A ten year old boy, and he was kidnapped and killed. He hates them. They took him from his family, malnourished him, dehydrated him, beat him, there's only so much one man can take before he snaps.

So, Arthur sat in the cell, plotting. He stared at the door with blazing, hateful eyes. He glanced down to his hands that were still shackled. He glared at the silver chain that connected his two hands. "Damn you!" Arthur growled at the inanimate object, "Everything would be so much easier if _you_ weren't on my fucking wrists!"

But that's when an idea sparked in Arthur's hateful mind. He grinned evilly at the silver chain that was stained with his blood. He cackled murderously at it as the evil grin transformed into a deranged smile. "I know what I can do with you." Arthur told it, almost singing the words.

And he had the perfect plan. He'd taunt the man with the scar and get him in the room with him. He'd hide behind the open door that'd provide some shelter until "Smith" was in the room with his back to him. With his foot, he'd slam the door closed and attack from behind. The plan was perfect.

Arthur stood up, limping over to the door, and slammed his fist into it. "Hey!" He growled.

There was silence on the other side.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I know you're there. I have a request, wanker."

He heard a heavy sigh. "What?"

"Go get that shithead of a boss." Arthur requested kindly. "You know, the twat with the scar on his head."

"Don't insult him." The guard hissed.

"Or else what?" Arthur challenged. "I've got an idea, how about you tell that git what I called him, and see if he's got a problem with it."

"Fine." The man answered before Arthur heard footsteps fade out of his range of hearing.

Arthur turned to the left and took his place by the wall where the door would hide him.

"So," Arthur heard, "I'm a shithead, twat, and a git?"

Arthur's smile grew. "And I have a lot more if you want to hear them."

"Remember, I said I don't like it when prisoners cuss."

"Well, arsehole, I guess I'm breaking some rules." Arthur retorted, "Now, aren't you going to hold your end of the threat? You said you'd beat me."

"Wow, I didn't think I beat you _this_ senseless." Smith mumbled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You know what? I think you're scared of me."

The man with the scar scoffed. "Scared of _you_? Please."

"Don't act like you're so tough!" Arthur exclaimed. "You've only fought me when I'm either tied up, or outnumbered. How about you come in here and see if you can take me, one-on-one!"

"Smith" laughed on the other side of the door. "You're so stupid."

"You're scared." Arthur teased.

There was a second of mumbling on the other side of the door. "Fine." The scarred man eventually replied.

Arthur inhaled and exhaled, preparing himself. "Perfect." He murmured to himself.

The door opened, but no one entered. "Oh, no." The scarred man said in horrible sarcasm. "Where'd Arthur go. It's like he just disappeared."

"Smith" finally walked in, his back to Arthur. He kicked the door closed and lunged, wrapping the shackles around the scarred man's throat, and pulling him to the ground. Arthur landed on his back, wrapping his legs around the man's diaphragm.

The man with the scar struggled but couldn't break free, and Arthur tightened the chain that was around the man's neck. Killing this man would solve so many problems. But, out of nowhere, he saw a gun in the man's hand. It was aimed at Arthur's feet, so he dropped them from the man's diaphragm. "Smith" began to become limp, so Arthur tightened the chain once more.

The man with the scar delivered a powerful elbow to Arthur's gut, knocking the wind out of him, and loosening the chain around the man's neck. "Smith" slipped the chain out from beneath his chin. Arthur laid on the ground for a moment, catching his breath. He looked up to see the scarred man stand up, stumble, and fall over. Although this didn't work out, Arthur could still win.

He lunged forward again, wrestling the gun away from "Smith" and pointing it at him, aiming, firing. But, for the third time, at the worst possible moment, the door opened, hitting Arthur, and redirecting his aim to the left of the man, shooting the wall.

Three other men ran in the room. One ran straight for "Smith", when the other two violently took the pistol from Arthur, which included kicking him the the ground, taking the gun, beating him, and choking him.

"St-op!" It was a raspy voice, but it was an order. The men on top of Arthur ended their beating, and Arthur gasped for air. He was stood up, and a gun was shoved in his face.

The scarred man stepped closer to Arthur, delivered a kick to the abdomen, knocking the Brit against the wall. Arthur panted, all of his hate quickly being replaced by fear and dread. He felt like crying. He had come so close to escape, so close to killing the man responsible to all of this, and he failed.

The man with the scar grabbed him by the bloodstained green sweater vest and pulled him close to his face. "Arthur," He choked out, "I'm going to beat the hell out of you for this!" He threatened. "And if you thought you've felt a beating before now," He added, "You'll be lucky if you die! You will definitely pay for this one. I will beat every ounce of will out of you!"

And that's exactly what he did.

* * *

 **Poor Arthur! He's going through so much! But he did have his badass moment, right? At least that.**

 **A sad chapter, and if you've read** _ **Sollen Wir Tanzen?**_ **, then you know it's going to get worse.**

 **Please review!**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	10. Recorded Memories

Chapter 10

Recorded Memories

When it came to Francis, he hadn't been in a good mood, to say the least. He's been very negative at work, around Alistair, and by himself. But when it came to being around the boys, he had to fake happiness, but what father wouldn't do that for his kids?

It was stressful though. Needing to hide his emotions, even when he felt like balling into the couch cushions, or the pillow that Arthur used to use, or anything that Arthur owned, for that matter.

But he had to stay strong. He had to be the strong one, he had to pull himself together and keep his sanity, no matter how hard it was.

The boys were asleep, Alistair was at work, and it was silent in the bedroom Francis was lying in. Why was he in there? All it would do was depress him. He flipped open his wallet, then flipped it closed, flipped it open, flipped it closed, and so on. He looked at the ceiling above him with an emotionless stare.

Francis raised his wallet to his face, opening it and pulling out a picture of Arthur. He was younger, much younger, but it was him. It was when Arthur was in his punk phase, for he was wearing a leather jacket, black torn jeans, and a bandana with the Union Jack on it. Arthur had given the camera a devious grin. Francis sighed, letting his arm fall onto the bed next to him. He stared up at the blank ceiling again, tears rolling down the sides of his face and onto the mattress under him.

He'd never felt so alone. The day would pass by, and he could bear it, but it was at night, however, that it was the worst. Because Arthur should be in bed right next to him. Arthur should be to his right, but every time he'd look over there, the bed was empty. Francis wiped tears away from his face. He had the feeling that there was no sleeping tonight, but he hoped that was wrong. The more he was awake, the more depressed he'd get.

He had laid there for about an hour before Francis decided to get up and go to the living room, and try and sleep on the couch. He stood up with a sigh and grabbed his pillow and started to walk away. He opened his bedroom door, and the cold air of the hallway ran a chill through him. He stood there for a long moment, crossing his arms in front of his chest, trying to see if he could get used to the feeling of the chilled air. No such luck. The Frenchman turned on his heels and was about to pull the blanket off of his bed and take it in the living room with him, when he decided just to get a blanket out of the closet. Francis knew he wouldn't feel like remaking his bed in the morning.

Francis tossed his pillow on the couch as he entered the living room, and he turned around and walked to the closet down the hall. He opened the door slowly, knowing that it would creak, and he was trying not to wake the boys. He grabbed the first blanket he saw and carelessly pulled it off of the shelf it was sitting on. Francis was just about to close the door when he heard something collide with the floor, making a loud _thunk_ as it hit. Francis closed his eyes in annoyance before bending down and picking up a small black bag.

Curious, Francis unzipped the bag and pulled out its contents. What sat in his palm was a medium-sized tape recorder that shone silver in the small amount of light that poured down the hall from the window in Francis' room. He looked inside the bag again and saw many tapes resting inside, waiting to be watched. He chuckled at the sight of the tapes and walked down the hallway with the bag and his blanket, closing the closet door with his foot.

Francis popped a random tape into his VHS player, that he hasn't used in _years_ , and sat down quietly on the couch, throwing the blanket on top of himself. The T.V. was black for a long moment, and Francis wondered if it was going to work.

" _Arthur!"_ Francis' voice sang from the video in a thick French accent that he hadn't realized that he lost.

" _What?"_ Arthur called back before he was shown on the screen.

Francis' heart melted at what he saw. Arthur was sitting on the couch, a tired expression on his face, and he held both of the boys, who were infants at this time.

" _Would you put that bloody thing away?"_ Arthur exclaimed, his accent also thicker than Francis remembered.

" _I want to see the boy's reactions to it."_ Francis heard himself respond as he walked over to the couch and sat down on the coffee table, across from Arthur and the boys.

Arthur visually rolled his eyes.

" _Don't roll your eyes at me!"_ Francis exclaimed on video, and Francis laughed at himself.

Francis saw the camera zoom in on Alfred, who was cautiously and curiously eyeing the camera before he extended his small hands to it, hitting the lens. " _No, Alfred, don't hit the camera!"_ Francis scolded.

The camera moved and what Francis saw blurred for a moment before it refocused, and it showed Matthew, who looked scared of camera. " _Oh, he's camera-shy!"_ Francis chuckled.

Matthew then began crying, and hid his face in Arthur's black T-shirt. " _Hey!"_ Arthur had exclaimed protectively, " _Put it away, you're scaring him!"_

Out of nowhere, the camera was hit by something. " _Alfred, don't hit the camera!"_

" _Put the camera away!"_ Arthur ordered.

" _Okay, okay-"_ The camera turned off, and Francis was laughing at himself. Things used to be so simple back then.

White noise appeared on the screen before the next video began. Immediately, Francis heard Arthur's voice, and he saw the hallway floor.

" _It's the boys' first Halloween…"_ Arthur's face was shown on the camera. He was currently wearing a small witches hat, and had a grin on his face. " _So I dressed them like this."_ The camera quickly turned in a blur of surroundings before it cleared and it showed Matthew and Alfred lying in their crib together. Alfred was dressed as a cowboy, and Matthew dressed as a polar bear.

"Aww." Francis commented on the video. The two of them looked so precious.

" _This is Sheriff Alfred Kirkland and his sidekick, Matthew the Polar Bear."_ Arthur introduced. " _This is a surprise for Francis. He doesn't know that I bought the outfits for them… Francis will be home any minute now."_

The camera turned black for a moment before it turned on again, Arthur on the screen. " _The front door is unlocking."_ He informed, turning the camera to the front door.

Francis then saw himself enter the house in the restaurant's chef uniform. He narrowed his eyes at the camera that was pointed at him. " _What's going on?"_ Francis asked in the video, raising an eyebrow.

" _Nothing."_ Arthur replied, faking an innocent tone in his voice.

" _You have the camera out,"_ Francis heard himself say, " _you're plotting something."_

" _I wouldn't call it a plot."_ Arthur protested, standing. " _Just follow me. It's innocent, I swear."_

Arthur then walked off, the video blurring at the quick movement. Arthur lead Francis into the boy's' room and stopped in front of the crib.

" _Aww! They're so precious!"_ Francis exclaimed on video, putting his hands on his cheeks.

" _Happy Halloween!"_ Arthur exclaimed loudly with a laugh.

" _Where'd you get the outfits?"_ Francis heard himself ask.

" _My secret."_ Arthur replied, and Francis guessed that he was smiling largely.

" _Happy Halloween."_ Francis had replied sweetly. " _Now put the camera away."_

" _Alright."_ Arthur replied before the camera turned off again.

Francis stared at the black screen for a long moment as he waited for the next video to start. He hadn't even noticed the large smile on his face until now. His smile began to disappear as the next video started.

He saw the hallway floor, and whoever was holding the camera was being extra careful to stay silent. The camera quickly turned to Arthur's face as he held a finger up to his mouth, instructing the camera to stay quiet. The camera turned back to the hall and showed the bathroom door. Francis raised his eyebrow at the video, for he didn't remember Arthur making one like this.

The toilet from inside the bathroom flushed, the sink turned on, and turned off after a few moments. The door opened, and Arthur screamed loudly, lunging toward Francis, who was on the other side. Francis jumped back with a scream, and Arthur had begun to laugh loudly.

" _I hate you!"_ Francis yelled at Arthur and the camera.

" _No you don't, you love me!"_ Arthur argued before the camera silenced, and the T.V. screen went black.

Francis couldn't help but laugh at what he saw. Arthur always did things like that… Or, used to… Francis' laughter began to die when the next video started, and he immediately heard laughter from both himself and Arthur.

" _This is hilarious."_ Arthur commented before he turned to the camera with a scowl. " _Why do you have that out again? You'll scare Matthew again!"_

" _No I won't, I promise."_

Arthur over-exaggerated an eye roll as he turned back to the boys.

" _Go ahead."_ Francis had instructed from behind the camera.

Arthur sighed before he shook his head from side to side quickly, making a strange sound as he did so. The twin toddlers burst out in laughter along with both Arthur and Francis. Alfred started to shake his body back and forth, trying to impersonate the movement Arthur previously made. Arthur and Francis laughed loudly again.

A large smile stretched across Francis' face at the video as his eyes began to tear up. He saw Arthur laughing, although his tiredness of being a father with two infants. He was so happy. Francis pulled out the remote to the VHS player and paused it, the image of his husband grinning in pure joy and love frozen on the screen in front of him, the image jumping slightly to the right and left due to its age. Francis covered his mouth with his left hand as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Arthur looked so happy.

Francis wiped away the tear and took a moment to regain his composure, and pressed the play button on the remote. The scene continued to play, nothing really changing. Arthur was still cracking up the boys as they lay on the couch, Arthur kneeling in front of them. Matthew also impersonated Arthur, shaking his entire body back and forth. Francis could've sat there and watched this video forever, but the screen turned black as the next video started.

Francis saw himself on the screen. He had pointed the camera at himself, while wearing a Santa hat on top of his head. " _It's the boy's first Christmas!"_ He exclaimed.

Matthew and Alfred came into view, both of them wearing tiny Santa hats of their own. Alfred outstretched his arms to the camera, hitting it with his hands. " _No, Alfred, don't hit the camera."_ Francis instructed.

The camera then turned to Matthew, zooming in only a little bit. Matthew was giving the camera a suspicious and cautious stare, but remained calm.

" _Would you stop harassing the boys with the camera!"_ Arthur yelled from out of view, " _Matthew is afraid of that thing!"_

" _He's not crying, he's fine."_ Francis protested.

" _It doesn't mean that he's not scared!"_

" _Sorry, Mum."_ Francis teased, walking toward the sound of Arthur's voice. " _WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE KITCHEN?"_ He began laughing hysterically at the fear in his own voice during the video.

Arthur appeared on screen, where he had crossed his arms with a scowl. " _Calm the bloody hell down, Francis. I'm just in here."_

" _It's Christmas!"_ Francis argued, " _It's not the time to poison us with your cooking skills!"_

Arthur rolled his eyes. " _Since you're such a great chef, why don't you teach me?"_

" _I'm a chef, not a cooking instructor."_

" _You're the head chef."_ Arthur emphasized.

" _Exactly, that's why I do all of the cooking."_ Francis heard himself answer.

Arthur scoffed. " _You can't just stand there and tell me that I can't at least bake."_

Francis was silent for a long moment behind the camera. " _You carry a good point."_

Arthur threw his arms in the air. " _That's why I'm in here! I'm baking!"_

" _That's all you had to say in the first place."_ Francis said.

" _It's Christmas, Francis, you don't have to insult my cooking skills."_ Arthur complained in a kicked-puppy kind of voice.

" _You're atheist, you don't celebrate Christmas."_ Francis retorted.

" _Although I don't believe in the religion, it doesn't mean that family shouldn't come together and be merry for at least once a year."_

" _That sounded very scripted."_ Francis laughed. " _Be merry?"_

Arthur shrugged. " _What? People say merry."_

" _Whatever."_ Francis guessed that he rolled his eyes at the word. " _I'm going to go back and pay attention to the boys now. They're much cuter than you."_

" _Good."_ Francis heard from off screen again.

The screen blurred at Francis' movement, and finally refocused on the boys, who were still in their small, adorable Santa hats. " _How are my precious boys?"_

Alfred laughed in reply, trying to hit the camera with his hands again. " _No,"_ Francis scolded, " _don't hit the camera."_

The camera turned to Matthew again, who was still staring at it like it was going to somehow kill him. The young boy's eyes began to get watery as he started to cry. " _No, Matthew, don't be scared, it's okay."_ Francis attempted at reassurance, " _I'll put it away, I'll put it away."_

The screen turned black again, Francis waiting patiently for the next video to begin. That last one was so cute, and so spot on to Arthur and Francis' relationship that he felt like crying again. But the next video interrupted that.

The boys were the only ones on screen, sitting on the couch. There was silence for a long moment before Arthur's voice was heard. " _I had to record this because of how adorable it is. Just watch."_

There was another short moment of anticipation of whatever was so adorable that Arthur had to pull out the recorder for. " _Alfred!"_ Arthur said quickly in a slightly high-pitched tone. " _Alfred!"_

Alfred's head turned to his father, his beautiful blue eyes shining in curiosity.

" _Where's Matthew?"_ Arthur asked. " _Where's Matthew?"_

Alfred quickly turned his head to Matthew, then back to Arthur, then back to Matthew. " _Maaa!"_ Alfred yelled, that being the only part of Matthew's name that he could pronounce.

" _Matthew. Matthew! Matthew!"_ Arthur called.

Matthew turned to Arthur, a small amount of uneasiness in his eyes at the sight of the camera.

" _Where's Alfred? Where is he?"_

" _Aaaah!"_ Matthew yelled the only part of Alfred's name that he could pronounce, and Alfred turned quickly.

" _Where is Alfred?"_ Arthur exclaimed.

Matthew threw his arms out to Alfred. " _Aaaah!"_

Arthur laughed for a short moment. " _I can't wait to show this one to Francis."_ The camera lowered to the ground and turned off.

Francis sat on the couch, laughing for a moment at how adorable the scene was. Arthur was right, it was too adorable to pass up the chance to record. There was a long moment of the black screen, and Francis was about to get up and change out the tape with a different one when he heard Arthur's voice again.

" _Why is that thing out?"_

" _Because you're beautiful."_ Francis responded. " _And I love you."_

" _Francis, it's eleven at night-"_

" _Tired so soon, old man?"_ Francis heard himself tease.

" _One, you're older than me, and two, I need to get up at five. And that's_ after _I wake up eight times because the boys need something."_ Arthur groaned, his voice was obviously tired.

" _Say that you love me, then we can go to bed."_ Francis ordered.

" _What?"_ Arthur asked, " _I say that I love you right before we fall asleep every night. I'm going to say that I love you in like, ten minutes!"_

" _Say it."_ Francis insisted.

" _Why? I hate you."_ Arthur replied as if it was a well-known fact.

" _I want proof that you love me."_

Arthur's face twisted in irritation and surprise. " _Proof? What do you mean by proof?"_

" _You know, so when I get murdered, the defense can use this tape to prove your innocence."_ Francis explained.

Arthur shrugged in agreement. " _I'll have to edit this part out."_

" _That's what computers are for._ " Francis said, " _Now tell me you love me. Like you mean it, too."_

Arthur blinked slowly. " _I love you, Francis."_

" _Forever?"_ Francis asked.

" _Forever."_ Arthur replied.

" _No,"_ Francis began, " _you need to start from the beginning."_

Arthur groaned. " _I love you, Francis, forever."_

" _And ever?"_

Arthur nodded. " _I love you forever, and ever-"_

" _And ever?"_ Francis asked.

" _Francis!"_ Arthur exclaimed with a tired chuckle.

" _Just one more time!"_ Francis insisted.

Arthur sighed. " _I love you, Francis, forever, and ever, and ever."_

" _I love you too, Arthur."_ Francis replied after a short moment of silence.

" _Now put the camera away, and let's go to bed."_ Arthur said.

" _Alright, alright."_ The camera turned off, and the T.V. screen turned black, and stayed that way this time.

Francis sat there, staring at the pitch black screen as tears built up in his eyes, then eventually fell down his cheeks. He covered his face with his hands as he sobbed. He and Arthur were so happy together, and everything that they had was crushed. No, that wasn't true, Francis still had the boys. As long as he still had them, he would be fine.

* * *

 **So, a very emotional chapter, at least in my view. I really hope I wrote the videos correctly, and if you have any suggestions on how I can improve them, please let me know in the comments.**

 **Everything that's** _ **italicized**_ **is dialogue from the videos.**

 **Lastly, I'm very sorry it took so long for me update any of my stories. School and writers' block have been getting in my way.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	11. What We'll Never See

Chapter 11

What We'll Never See

That damned light flickered again. That single light hanging on a single chain that poured horrible lighting into the chamber that's been Arthur's prison for way too long. Arthur could almost feel the days aging him, knowing that it had been weeks since he was home. Months? Years? Who knows?

Arthur adjusted himself uncomfortably, pain shooting through his body at the slightest movement. The weak light from the bulb glinted off the silver restraints on his wrists. They weren't shackles anymore, but handcuffs instead. His stare moved down to his feet, the silver glow of shackles around his ankles reflected in Arthur's eye.

Arthur would kill to see his family again. He wanted to be home more than anything in the world. He wanted to see them, just one last time. If he could get a final goodbye, then he'd die in peace. If Francis, Matthew, and Alfred could just _know_ that Arthur was dead, that'd be so much better. Not he might be dead, he might be found, but no one knows.

The light flickered again.

He could almost picture his family right there, imagine that he wasn't in a cell covered in his own blood. It almost felt real, like he wasn't in pain, restrained, or dying. Arthur could picture his wedding, the happiest day in his life. The day were his life turned for the better, the day he and Francis vowed to live with and love each other for the rest of their lives… "The rest of our lives…" Arthur mumbled, realizing the irony. Ten years wasn't very long. He always pictured seeing Matthew and Alfred go to middle school, high school, college. He could picture their graduation. His twin boys in their cap and gowns, among their friends, tossing their hats in the air with their entire graduating class… He'll never see that.

All that Arthur could see were memories, those painfully happy memories. He could see Francis walking down the aisle, Arthur waiting for him at the altar. Both of them wore white suits, Francis had a light green tie, Arthur's favorite color, and Arthur wore a light blue tie, Francis' favorite color. Francis had surprised Arthur by wearing a lace veil over his head.

Arthur could see Francis smile beautifully as he said the words "I do." Arthur could feel the same tears of happiness roll down his face as he whispered "I do," before he lifted Francis' veil, and they kissed, declaring a life-long marriage. Except, it wasn't going to be that long. Ten years wasn't very long.

He remembered their dance at the wedding, Arthur was kind enough to let Francis lead most of their dances. When the cake was cut, Francis tried to hit Arthur in the face with the vanilla cake, but Arthur dodged, and it hit Alistair. Arthur was so happy then, and he took it for granted. Because, in here, he was miserable. There was no reason for happiness.

The light flickered twice.

Arthur stood with a grunt, his body sore from the beatings and the lack of movement. He started walking back and forth in cement room, thinking of nothing. No ideas of escape, no ideas of getting revenge, no ideas of surviving. He only stood and paced to stretch his aching legs. No to plot, not to run. So much has changed within a past few days, or what Arthur could guess was a few days. Just the other day, he could see the highway, hear the cars, taste the freedom. But he was caught, and then revenge settled in his head. He attempted murder, and he was proud of it. But he paid for failing. He paid through pain.

What exactly was the true pain of being in this room? Arthur is beaten every day, malnourished, dehydrated, detached from all human contact, and was ripped away from his family. There were so many things to complain about, but so little energy to do so. The worst of it is not knowing what the worst part was. The pain, hunger, thirst, and the slow-forming insanity made Arthur want to just die already, but the need to see his family again hurts just as much because he'll never see them again. He'll never be able to kiss Francis again, sing Alfred and Matthew to sleep, play tag in his backyard, teach his sons how to drive, or grow old with Francis.

The light turned off, and Arthur counted five seconds before it turned back on.

He turned and leaned against the wall, allowing his sore muscles to to rest. His legs started to feel weak, so he slid down the wall, holding his breath as he did so. Arthur panted when he finally sat down on the concrete, pain fading from his aching body. He closed his eyes, hoping that if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake back up. But no, he needs to live, he needs to see his family again. But he can't, he's tried escape too many times. What if he's rescued? What if he's saved? Then he can see his family again.

Arthur snorted in laughter at that last thought. Rescue? It's possible, but not for him. Any future victims may be saved, but it's too late for him. The police lost his trail, and his case is being slowly forgotten. He had to keep hope, right? Miracles happen every day, and maybe his miracle could be rescue. But what are the chances of that? _Don't count on it, Arthur. If there was going to be a miracle, you would've made it to the highway. You're a dead man, and there's no changing that._

Slowly, Arthur opened his tired eyes to see a pitch-black room. He started counting the seconds, wondering if the light would turn back on. He counted a minute, then two, then three before he lost interest, and painfully laid down on the concrete. He laid in darkness, wondering if the lightless room would help him fall asleep. His eyes adjusted to the sliver of light that came from beneath the large metal door, that Arthur used to think as an obstacle, and lit up the back wall. He started at the glow for a moment before he closed his eyes again, and slowly fell asleep.

.

 _Screech!_

The metal door started to open, and Arthur woke with its sound. He stared at it, not even thinking of escape. It opened slightly, a figure standing in the doorway, before it closed again. Arthur heard mumbling come from the other side, before the door swung open quickly, a bright flashlight illuminating the room and shining in Arthur's eyes. He was given a hard kick as a warning, but he just laid on the floor, looking up at the other men.

Someone removed the burnt out lightbulb from the chain it was attached to, and replaced it, the sudden light hurting Arthur's tired eyes. With one last kick to the stomach, everyone but Arthur exited the room, leaving him panting on the floor.

After he took a moment to breathe, Arthur sat up, wincing and closing his eyes tightly as he did so. He sighed once he was sitting up again, still slowing his breathing. He wondered why they were coming into the chamber anyway, but that didn't matter now.

Another bad part about being in there was boredom. There's only so many times you can pace in the same room, in the same way, over and over again before you drive yourself crazy. There's always sleep, if you're being beaten and malnourished, then you should probably get as much sleep as possible, but sleep never helps. Every time Arthur wakes from sleep, he's always in the same cell, in the same pain, alone.

Or so he thought.

.

Alfred was in a bad mood. It was early October, the month of Halloween, Daddy's favorite holiday. It wasn't fair. Why did this have to happen to _him?_ Why not anyone else? Why him? Matthew was obviously in a bad mood too, and if Alfred could tell, then that meant he was in a _really_ bad mood.

Matthew was currently lying face down on his bed, seemingly asleep. _Lucky,_ Alfred thought, _I wish I could fall asleep like that._ Alfred sighed, and repositioned himself in his bed so he could check the time on the clock. It read eleven thirty-two; way past Alfred's bedtime.

"Mattie?" Alfred said carefully, "Are you asleep?"

"No." Matthew murmured into his pillow.

"Did I wake you?"

Matthew shook his head. "No."

Alfred was silent, unsure why he asked his brother that. Yes, it was a little comforting to know that he wasn't the only one awake, but he wasn't sure what his point was.

Matthew rolled onto his side, facing Alfred. "What's wrong, Al?"

"I can't sleep." Alfred complained.

Matthew shrugged. "I stopped trying an hour ago."

"Why? You need to sleep!" Alfred exclaimed.

Matthew put his right index finger to his mouth. "Shhh! We don't want Papa to know we're up. He'll get sad if he knows that we can't sleep."

Alfred glanced to the door. "Why? Sometimes people can't sleep."

Matthew shook his head. "If he knows we're awake, then he'll ask why."

"We tell him we can't sleep." Alfred said.

"Then he'll ask why." Matthew added.

"Oh." Alfred breathed as he realized Matthew's point. If Papa was to ask why they couldn't sleep, then they'd have to tell him it was because of Daddy. Which would make Papa sadder than he already was. "I'll be quiet, then."

Matthew nodded at Alfred. "That's a good idea."

Alfred and Matthew laid there longer, Alfred glancing to the clock every few minutes, hoping that he'd get drowsy after long enough of boredom. It was past midnight, and Alfred was tired, but he still couldn't sleep.

"Al?" Matthew asked quietly. "You awake?"

Alfred rolled over so he could see his twin. "Yeah."

Matthew pulled his blankets up to his shoulders. "Okay, I was just wondering."

"What do you want to do?" Alfred questioned, "I mean, we're not falling asleep anytime soon, and maybe if we do something, we'll get so tired that we just fall asleep."

Matthew was silent for a moment, probably thinking. "Sounds like a good idea."

"What do you want to do?"

Matthew shrugged. "I don't know."

Alfred hummed as he thought. "We could play hide-and-seek! Papa's probably asleep, and all we have to do is stay quiet."

"Good idea, but let's make the basement off-limits this time." Matthew suggested, "That place is creepy at night."

Alfred nodded quickly. "Yeah, definitely."

"Alright, let's start in the living room." Matthew said, getting up quickly and moving to the door.

Alfred followed his brother to the living room, giggling quietly. Matthew sat on the couch, facing Alfred.

"I'll go first, go hide." Matthew ordered, covering his eyes and beginning to count to one hundred.

Alfred jogged off, trying to make his footsteps as silent as possible so he wouldn't wake Papa. He went and hid in the spare bedroom behind the door and waited for Matthew, wondering if his brother would be able to find him.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Alfred heard Matthew say from the other room. He covered his mouth to keep himself from laughing, so he wouldn't give his hiding spot away. Alfred started to hear footsteps coming in his direction, so he pressed himself as far against the wall as possible so he could stay hidden in the shadow behind the door.

The door moved quickly, and Papa was standing there. "Alfred, what are you doing up?"

Alfred looked down at the floor in disappointment. Now he would have to tell Papa what was wrong. He looked back up at Papa, who must've heard something come from Matthew's direction, for he was looking down the hall.

"Matthew! What are you two doing up?" Papa whispered. "Come here."

Alfred stood up as Matthew entered the spare bedroom. Matthew's eyes were fixed on the floor.

"What are you doing up?" Papa asked for the third time.

"We we're just playing hide-and-seek." Alfred argued.

Papa sighed, putting his hand on his face. "Do you know how late it is? Go to-"

"It's past midnight," Alfred interrupted, "we know how late it is."

Papa looked down at Alfred for a moment before he mumbled something in French. "Go back to bed." He ordered.

"But we can't sleep!" Matthew exclaimed.

Papa looked from Matthew to Alfred then he closed his eyes. "Alright, let's go into your room and talk about it, then."

"We don't want to." Matthew objected.

"Let's go and talk about it." Papa emphasised, walking towards their room.

Alfred followed slowly, remembering that Papa would just get sad when they told him what was wrong. He climbed up on his bed, Matthew doing the same and sitting next to Alfred on his bed. Papa sat across from them on Matthew's bed.

There was a moment of silence before Papa broke it. "What's wrong?"

Neither Alfred or Matthew wanted to speak, so they stayed quiet, staring at the floor. Alfred knew that eventually Papa would get the answer out of them, so why waste time? _Just get it over with_ , Alfred thought. "It's because of Daddy."

Papa leaned back, taking in a long breath, obviously preparing for this talk. "Why suddenly?"

"It's October," Matthew replied, "Daddy's favorite month."

"Yeah, and there's Halloween, which is his favorite holiday." Alfred added.

"Boys…" Papa began sadly, but didn't continue.

Alfred and Matthew glanced at each other. "What?" Alfred asked.

Papa looked up at the ceiling. "Don't think about that. Daddy wouldn't want you to be sad on his favorite holiday, right? He would want you to have fun."

"But it won't be the same without him!" Alfred yelled.

"Alfred, keep your voice down."

Alfred began to cry. "It won't be the same… nothing's the same..." He felt Matthew hug him and rub his back. Papa walked over and pulled them both into a hug.

"I know _mes fils,_ I know nothing's the same. But don't dread on that." Papa pulled away and looked Alfred in the eyes, "Daddy wouldn't want you to dread on him or worry about him. Remember that."

"How am I not supposed to worry or be sad?" Alfred countered, "He's dead!"

"No he isn't!" Matthew yelled in anger, "Daddy's not dead! Don't give up on him like that ever again!"

"Matthew, calm down-"

"How long has it been, Mattie?" Alfred yelled back, interrupting Papa, "We'll never see him again! He's dead!"

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "No! You're wrong!"

"Boys-"

Alfred threw his arms in the air. "Then what? He just left! Because he doesn't care!"

"He does care! He's just-"

Alfred didn't let his brother finish. "If he cared then he would be back already!"

"Shut up!" Matthew ordered, "How could you give up on him like that!"

"Boys!" Papa yelled, gaining both of their attention. "I don't want to hear you argue anymore. No more arguing."

"But Al-"

"I don't care what Alfred said." Papa interrupted, "You both need to calm down. We're all stressed out, but it doesn't give either one of you the right to be at each other's' throats."

Alfred stared at Papa. He knew something. He knew that either he or Matthew was right. "Is Daddy dead?" Alfred asked cautiously.

Papa was silent for a moment. He sighed. "I don't know."

"Don't say that." Alfred ordered, "You do know, you just don't want to tell us."

"Alfred, I don't know." Papa replied.

"He's our dad, we deserve to know." Alfred argued.

Papa shook his head. "I know it sounds like I'm lying, but I'm not. I truly don't know."

Alfred looked down at the ground. Papa didn't know if Daddy was alive, but he did know something. Something Papa doesn't want to tell him.

.

Arthur stared up at the door as it creaked open once again. He had heard the sounds of someone growling in hate, and Arthur feared for the worst. The door swung open, a man that was probably Arthur's height was pushed in, wearing shackles. He had somewhat long dark auburn hair, a strange curl, and looked exhausted.

The man inspected the steel door, probably trying to find a way out. _Good luck with that,_ Arthur thought. The man clenched his fists tightly and laid them against the metal door, then gently place his forehead on them with a long sigh, "Bastards." He breathed.

"Company?" Arthur asked after a moment of silence.

The man jumped back and turned in mid-air and slammed his back against the wall. His eyes wondered every corner of the room before they settled on Arthur.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Arthur apologised weakly.

The man didn't reply, he just stared at Arthur, probably taking in his horrible, blood-stained appearance. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Arthur said.

"You look like one." The auburn replied awkwardly with an accented voice.

Arthur chuckled. "Do I? I thought I'd look worse than a ghost."

The man slowly sat down, a horrified look in his hazel eyes. Arthur glanced down to himself, realizing that this wasn't a great first impression. "Don't worry, mate… You won't end up like this if you cooperate and don't try and run."

"You've gotten past the door?"

"Oh no," Arthur said, shaking his head, "Whenever they open the bloody door I make a run for it…" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes in pain, "Or when they take you out of this damn room… I run for my life."

The man stared at him without a word.

"I actually got out of the warehouse once…" Arthur added, "If it weren't for those blasted dogs, I would've gotten away."

"So that's why I have one shoe?" The man asked, "To track me with dogs?"

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at the auburn's feet, then down to his, which were now both bare. "They took both of mine."

"Why's that?"

Arthur shrugged. "They said I lost my shoe privileges after I got out of the warehouse that one time… It's probably so if I get out again I can't run as fast on the gravel." The man didn't reply, and Arthur closed his tired eyes again, trying to catch a little more sleep.

"What's your name?"

Arthur looked at the man who sat across from him for a moment before he answered. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Lovino Vargas." The auburn replied after a few heartbeats of silence.

Arthur nodded and didn't reply.

"What are you here for?"

Arthur chuckled. "Oh, because I stole from a convenience store." He paused for a moment, "They want money… Money my family doesn't have."

"What's your family like?" Lovino asked.

Arthur could feel a blissful peace fill him, as he smiled. "Hopefully you won't judge, but I have a husband."

Loving shook his head. "I don't judge, my fratello- I mean brother- is dating another man."

Arthur blinked, more happiness filling him. "His name is Francis… Bloody frog…" Arthur let out a gentle sigh. "I have two adopted sons, twins… Alfred and Matthew…"

"What are your sons like?"

Arthur could feel the smile on his face grow larger as he thought about his perfect sons. "Alfred… Alfred is very loud… But he is so accepting and kind… And Matthew… He is so sweet and caring… He's quiet… Even though they seem like complete opposites… They love each other and they're very similar in many ways."

Lovino took a moment to listen before he asked. "How are they similar?"

"They love adventure and they both have a soft spot for nature and animals…" Arthur looked up and stared at the blank ceiling. He looked back down at Lovino. "What about you? What's your family like?"

"Well I have my twin brother, Feliciano. He's an idiot, but I still love him." Lovino answered.

Arthur chuckled. "I bet Matthew would say the same about Alfred."

Lovino smiled at Arthur, then continued. "Then there's Feli's boyfriend, Ludwig, and his brother, Gilbert- both of them are German. Then there's their cousin, a personal 'friend' of mine, Roderich, who is Austrian, and his Hungarian wife, Elizabeva, then her Polish cousin, Feliks, and his Lithuanian boyfriend, Toris."

"Wow. Your family comes from everywhere." Arthur laughed then began coughing. He could feel lingering tiredness hit him like a brick. He could also feel himself drift into unconsciousness, which he didn't want to fall into. If he could fall asleep, then maybe he could gain a little energy before his next beating. "I think I'm going to get some sleep."

"That sounds like a good idea." Lovino replied, lying down by the wall.

Arthur adjusted, grunting as he did so. He laid in pain before he drifted into a light doze, the most amount of sleep he's been able to get.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _mes fils- My sons (French)_

 **It's pretty sad now, but we're getting pretty close to the climax! Yay (or not).**

 **Lovino is here now, which means even more problems**

 **~Feliks Out (^J^)**


	12. Keeps Getting Worse

Chapter 12

Keeps Getting Worse

Arthur had been with Lovino for what he could guess was a few days. They spoke to one another, Lovino asking painful, but yet, peaceful questions about his family, and of course, Lovino had to ask why they were doing this to him. Arthur gave him the best answer, telling him that it was for money, but even then, it didn't make sense. If they really wanted the money, they would communicate with Francis, or tell Arthur to go get the million, not lock him in a concrete room, yelling at and beating him for money that he can't get.

It was strange seeing another person, which made him wonder exactly how long he'd been in there, the only human contact that he would get is from one of his captors, but it was only violent. Arthur hadn't had a conversation with someone in too long, way too long. Arthur didn't think that he'd have to get used to talking to someone, or even seeing human expressions.

He was zoning out in Lovino's general direction, where the Italian laid asleep. Arthur blinked and looked away, knowing that it would seem a bit creepy if he found Arthur staring at him while he was asleep. Arthur sighed, grunting in pain as he adjusted himself on the ground.

Arthur's grunt seemed to echo, for across the room where he heard a similar sound. He looked back to Lovino, who was moving, sitting up, holding his back. Arthur couldn't keep his amused chuckle in at seeing Lovino's struggle to sit up. But it only lasted so long, because he fell into a strong coughing fit, putting his pale hand over his mouth.

"Are you okay?" Lovino said, asking that stupid question.

His coughing continued, but he nodded his head, implying that he was fine. Finally, the fit stopped, and Arthur attempted to sigh the pain in his chest and ribs away.

Lovino's eyes hinted towards sympathy. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Arthur stared at Lovino for a long moment, before he finally answered. "No."

Lovino's eyes widened slightly before he repositioned himself against the wall, and held Arthur's stare.

"Well, what else did you expect me to say?" Arthur asked weakly, slightly out of breath.

Lovino looked to the ground. "Um…"

Arthur tightly closed his eyes. "Stop asking if I'm okay… Because I'm not."

"Fine…" Lovino agreed, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Arthur kept his eyes closed. That was a hard question to answer. He wanted to tell Lovino to be quiet for a little bit, but the human conversation was something Arthur was deprived from for too long. He wanted to tell Lovino to find a way on the other side of that door, but that was an impossible request. So, Arthur settled with nothing. "Not unless you can get them to stop threatening my sons. Because as long as my family isn't harmed, I am okay." He replied.

Lovino stared at Arthur for a long moment, and Arthur closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh, a small amount of pain in his chest from the bruises that were there. He heard the screeching of the metal door unlocking, and Arthur slowly opened his eyes, looking in its direction. The door swung open, two men entering the room. One walked over to Lovino, shoving a gun in his face, the other stomped over to Arthur, kicked him down onto his back, then slammed his foot down onto his abdomen, knocking every breath of air out of him.

As Arthur laid on the ground, trying to catch his breath, he heard the sound of a man struggling and yelling. He looked back to the door, and saw a group of three or four men push a tall blonde haired man into the room. The captors left the chamber, slamming and locking the door behind them.

" _Verdammt noch mal!_ " The new prisoner yelled, slamming both of his fists onto the cold metal door.

Arthur stared at the blonde for a moment, then lost interest, closing his eyes weakly.

"Ludwig?" Arthur heard Lovino exclaim, so he reopened his eyes.

The blonde spun around in surprise, slamming his back against the metal door. Once again, Arthur couldn't hold back his laughter, but it quickly turned into a violent hacking fit.

"Lovino!" The man who must be Ludwig yelled, "Don't scare me like that!"

"I thought you would have saw me." Lovino replied.

"I-" Arthur heard Ludwig begin, before he cut himself off. " _Mein Gott_ , are you okay?"

Arthur held the right side of his aching ribcage with his left hand, as he covered his mouth with his right hand. The coughing finally stopped, and he panted, trying to catch his breath, and breathe the pain in his chest and ribs away. "No." He replied pitifully.

Ludwig shifted his weight to his left side. "Anything you need me to do?"

 _That was a stupid question,_ Arthur noted, staring at Ludwig. "A nice glass of whiskey would be perfect, could you go get me one?"

Ludwig glanced up at the blank ceiling with his sky blue eyes, then back down at Arthur. "I'm afraid not. Anything else?"

Arthur blinked slowly, realizing that Ludwig didn't sense his sarcasm. "Damn, I could have used a drink. Um, could you just stand there and look pretty?"

Ludwig held his stare before his shifted his weight, giving Lovino a pleading glance, then continued staring at Arthur.

"Sarcasm flows like water in here." Lovino explained simply.

Ludwig let out an amused chuckle. " _Ja_ , especially with you in here." He replied, pointing at Lovino. Ludwig then glanced back to Arthur. "Oh, excuse my manners. I am Ludwig Beilschmidt." He held out his right shackled hand for Arthur to shake.

Arthur smiled, clearing his throat. "Arthur Kirkland." He stated simply, not moving his hands, "And, uh…" He trailed off, opening his hands, showing them to the tall blonde, "I don't want to get my blood all over your hands."

Ludwig gave Arthur a sympathetic look. "Oh," He said, dropping his hand to his side, "Why are you so hurt? I mean, Lovino doesn't look too bad."

Arthur was sick of the topic already, and he hasn't even been there with Lovino very long. He looked away from Ludwig, staring at the wall exhaustedly.

"Nevermind." Ludwig said to Arthur's relief, before he walked over by Lovino and sat in the corner.

But Ludwig deserved an answer. Although it wasn't a topic that Arthur wanted to discuss, he had to give Ludwig an answer, it was kind of his business to ask, anyway. Ludwig could be in there for two reasons: ransom, or money, and if it was the second one, then Ludwig would end up just like him. Arthur sighed. "They want my money." He began, "It has become obvious that they're using Lovino due to how little they beat on him."

"Using him for what?" Ludwig looked from Arthur to Lovino.

"Ransom." Lovino answered, turning his head to look at the blonde.

Arthur realized that no one had anything to say, and he was once again, staring off in Lovino's direction. Lovino was glancing from one side of the room to another, probably trying to find something to look at, and he finally turned his head to stare at Ludwig. Arthur followed Lovino's eyes, noticing that Ludwig looked very confused.

"Wait a minute," Ludwig began, breaking the comfortable silence, "Why don't you just pay?"

 _Did he really just ask that?_ Arthur thought in rage. "I am a bloody school librarian that is married to a cook, and we have two sons. We don't have nearly enough money. They're asking for too much!" Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor, tears flooding his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, crying.

"There's something else wrong besides the physical pain you're in." Ludwig said.

 _No shit!_ Arthur thought.

"Stop pryi-"

Arthur didn't let Lovino finish. "They know where my sons are."

Lovino snapped his head to Arthur, staring at him in a fearful expression. "What?"

Arthur wiped tears away from his cheeks. "They're threatening my sons…" He began, trailing off for a moment, "And there's nothing I can do!"

Ludwig and Lovino were silent, unsure how to respond. Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm-I'm just…" Arthur trailed off, lying down, turning his back on Ludwig and Lovino. He heard them mumbling, but Arthur didn't care to listen. He just closed his eyes, and let himself cry in silence.

.

It was late in the day, and class was going well. Matthew sat in his chair, kicking his feet back and forth as he colored his homework. They were supposed to color a map of the United States, following the key as they did so. Matthew worked hard to make sure that it looked good, carefully coloring in the states, trying to keep the crayon inside the lines.

He looked up and saw Alfred across the class from him. Alfred looked up, meeting his stare, and made a funny face, sticking out his tongue with a weird smile. Matthew smiled, crossing his eyes, making Alfred laugh. He returned to the map.

The intercom came on. " _Mrs. Ruback?_ "

"Yes?" Mrs. Ruback, their teacher, replied.

" _Can we have Matthew Kirkland to the front office to check out, please?"_

Confusion filled Matthew. _Why just him? Why not Alfred too?_

"Matthew," Mrs. Ruback said, "get your things and head up to the office."

Matthew looked at Alfred, who shrugged in reply. Reluctantly, Matthew stood, grabbing his almost-empty backpack, and slinging it over his shoulder. He walked out of the classroom, and down the hallway, that had walls painted with red and blue, the school's colors. He pushed open the door to the main office, looking around.

He saw a man with dark brown hair, and a long scar traveling down the left side of his face, and across his jawline. Matthew did not know this man.

"Oh, hello." He said, "You must be Matthew."

Matthew took a step back, a terrible feeling traveling down his spine, and resting in his gut.

He shook his head. "Don't worry," He squatted down to Matthew's level. "I'm a good friend of your Papa. He's told me a little about you." He smiled warmly.

Matthew didn't reply, staring at the man.

"Listen, I really need to talk to you." He began, "Come here." He waved Matthew closer.

Slowly, Matthew took a few steps closer, but too confused and scared to move too close.

"It's about your Papa." The scarred man said, "He was in a terrible car wreck! He's in the hospital, he called me to pick you up."

"Is he okay?" Matthew exclaimed, moving closer.

"Yes, but he's in bad shape. He's being healed in the hospital. Let's go." He stood and walked off.

Matthew ran after the man, panic filling him. Was Papa alright? Did he have broken bones? Would he be able to come home? Would he be able to keep working, they need the money. Does Uncle Allie know? Matthew stopped. _Does Uncle Allie know?_ He asked himself. Allie is at his home, asleep. He's Papa's emergency contact ever since Daddy went missing. _Daddy went missing_. Matthew remembered. He looked up at the unknown man. Papa couldn't have gotten in a car wreck, he was at work. He wouldn't have been driving. He's been at work for hours. And lastly, if Papa was hurt, then wouldn't Alfred be here too?

Matthew gasped, realizing what was happening. He looked behind himself, and tried to run back to the front doors of the school and get help from the office lady, but his left hand was gripped hard. He was pulled back, he opened his mouth to scream, but it was covered by the man's hand, muffling it. He fought as well as he could. He bit the man's hand hard, but he got picked up, disabling him from running. He kicked the man with his heels, biting and screaming into his hand. Matthew even managed to bring up his right elbow and hit him in the jaw, but it wasn't hard enough to knock him out.

Matthew heard a car door open, and he was thrown into it. He tried to get up and jump out, but the door closed, thus, slamming his face against the glass. Tears were in his eyes, his heart was pounding, and he looked around in a terrified panic. He looked to the other door right as it opened. He tried to throw himself out of it, but the man with the scar caught him, and threw him back into the vehicle. The scarred man slammed the door closed, and the driver began to speed away. Matthew looked to the driver. If he could get him to stop the car, or even crash it, he might be able to slip out the window or something.

He stood on his seat, and jumped forward, trying to attack the driver, but he was caught again by the man with the scar beside him. He was thrown down onto the seat, Matthew yelling in both surprise and pain. With anger in his eyes, the man with the scar picked up a small wooden object, it looked kind of like Alfred's baseball bat, and hit Matthew on the head. Everything went black.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _Verdammt noch mal! (German)- Damn it all_

 _Mein Gott (German)- My God_

 _Ja (German)- Yes/Yeah_

 **Feels! DX**

 **More stuff with Arthur and Lovino, and now angst and feels with Matthew! :(**

 **The name of Chapter 12 really makes sense right, THIS STORY KEEPS GETTING WORSE! AHH**

 **Anywho, although the feels, and the shortness, I hoped you liked this chapter.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	13. Giving Up

Chapter 13

Giving Up

Arthur sat on the floor, a bad feeling in his chest. He wasn't beaten yet today, and he wondered what was going on, what his captors were planning. _You know you've been in here too long when not being beaten is out of the ordinary,_ Arthur thought to himself. They were probably going to kill him soon, weren't they? They acted slightly nicer to Peter before they killed him.

That was okay, there was no way of getting out, and a bullet in the head would be less painful than being beaten to death, so fine, kill him. Arthur sighed, dropping his head and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, then looked at the room around him. Arthur glanced from Lovino to Ludwig, who were both still sleeping.

The door beside him began to make sound, screeching as it unlocked. He noticed Ludwig and Lovino beginning to stir.

The door opened. "A bit late today." Arthur commented sarcastically.

"Give me the money, Kirkland!" Growled the man with the scar.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in anger. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't have the money!"

"How many times do we have to tell ya to get the money? We don't care how, just hand it over!" The scarred man yelled.

So much hatred flowed in Arthur as he growled back. "I can't if I'm in _here!_ " Just a heartbeat after Arthur's reply, he was kicked hard in the stomach, knocking every breath of air out of him. He gasped for air, and began coughing harshly.

"Hey!" Lovino yelled, standing from his lying position against the wall.

Arthur looked up to his captors, wondering how they would respond. A light brown haired man raised and cocked a handgun, pointing it to Ludwig, making Lovino freeze in his tracks. _Good,_ Arthur thought, _don't get yourself or Ludwig killed for me._

"Smith" turned his head to Lovino. "Get down." He ordered. "I can do worse to your brother, Vargas, all I need to do is get 'em here."

Arthur watched Lovino slowly sit back down on the floor. He continued coughing.

"Where was I?" The scarred man asked, almost singing the words as he looked back down to Arthur, who was currently finishing a coughing fit.

Smith squatted down to his level, Arthur narrowing his eyes, almost like it would threaten him. His captor grabbed him by the jaw. "Listen here, Kirkland, you're gonna to get us our money soon, right? I wouldn't want somethin' bad to happen."

Arthur stared at the man, fear filling his chest, but he said nothing.

"Right, Arthur?" The scarred man repositioned his hand from Arthur's jaw line, to his throat, choking him.

After just a moment of choking, Arthur pried the man's hand off of his throat, glared at him, and started to cough again. He was given one last kick to the stomach before the group of men left, closing the large metal door loudly behind them.

As his cough got worse, Ludwig and Lovino rushed over to him. They knelt down beside him, unsure of what to do at first, then Ludwig started making him sit up, Arthur willingly following. He ended up in a sitting position with his back against the wall. His cough was calming down, and it finally reduced to Arthur trying to catch his breath. He opened his eyes, slowing his breathing.

"What's wrong? What do you need me to do?" Lovino demanded.

Arthur stared at the Italian for a moment, unsure how to respond. There was really nothing Lovino could do. He sighed. "Go back in time and stop me from being an idiot and letting myself get captured like this." He whispered. "But that's impossible…"

Arthur looked back to the door, glaring at it as he heard voices on the other side growing louder and louder, until it silenced, and got replaced with laughter. The door flew open, the scarred man standing there, a bright smile on his face.

"Oh, Arthur!" He called.

Arthur tensed, trying to figure out what to expect from him.

"I've got a little present for you!" The scarred man almost sang. He threw something forward, that stumbled into the room and fell on its knees.

Arthur stared in terror as he realized what it was— or more precisely— who it was. "No!" He screamed.

 _It couldn't be_...

"Daddy!"

 _Matthew, no!_

Arthur moved faster than he had in days, standing and running over to his son, and wrapped him in his arms. He put his bound hands over Matthew's head and against his back, then turned, putting himself between Matthew and the scarred man.

"No, Matthew, you can't be here!" Arthur cried in panic.

"Maybe this'll give you some more motivation to get that money you owe me." The scarred man laughed, then slammed the door so hard it echoed loudly in the small room.

 _This can't be happening._

Arthur almost didn't hear what the man with the scar said, as he unwrapped his arms from around Matthew, and began to assess his son for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" Arthur demanded as he held Matthew's head in his hands gently.

"My head hurts a little." Matthew informed quietly, rubbing the side of his head.

Arthur inspected the area, searching it for any signs of bleeding or bruising. "You're not bleeding." He sighed in relief.

 _I thought you were safe._

Arthur wanted to cry, if he was going to be honest. His throat was dry, and it took every ounce of will and strength, that he didn't know he still had, to keep himself from even tearing up. He didn't want to scare Matthew. He had to stay strong for him.

"Papa, Al, and I were so worried! We didn't know where you were!" Matthew said.

Arthur forced a smile, and even as he tried not to, a few tears began to build up in his eyes. It was so hard to keep himself from crying. "You shouldn't be here. I would be happy to see you if we were anywhere but here."

Matthew pulled Arthur in a tight hug that hurt his aching body, but he didn't care, his son needed the hug. He needed the hug. "Daddy, I was so scared for you. Papa thought you were dead… Al and I told him that you will never die... but he's just been so sad…"

Arthur's heart ached at his son's words. He was pretty sure by now that he was going to die, that his family thought he was dead, and hell, had a funeral for him. But, even after all the convincing that he had given himself, telling himself that he was a dead man, it hurt to hear it come from his son. Alfred and Matthew were desperately trying to convince Francis that he was still alive, and Francis had given up. _Francis had given up,_ Arthur repeated in his mind. As stubborn, and hopeful as Francis was, had he really given up on him? Arthur stared forward for a moment, thinking, trying to figure out how he felt. He wasn't mad, he knew that. Hell, Arthur had given up on himself, but… Had it really been that long? Had Francis really given up on him?

But, Arthur reminded himself that he had to reassure Matthew somehow. He cleared his throat. "I'm okay." He lied.

"Weren't you scared, Daddy?" Matthew asked.

 _Scared? An understatement._ "A little, yes." Arthur replied. "But-but look," he began, pointing at Lovino and Ludwig, trying to change the subject and put Matthew's focus on them, "I made some new friends. Lovino," Arthur gestured to Lovino, and Matthew looked over at him, "he's a bit rough around the edges, but he's protective. And-and there's Ludwig. Ludwig is very big, strong and intimidating, but he really is nice. Also, Lovino is from Italy, isn't that interesting?"

Matthew nodded in agreement.

"And Ludwig is from Germany. You know where Italy and Germany are, don't you." Arthur quizzed, trying to bring a more light-hearted mood into the chamber.

"Yeah," Matthew began, looking up at him, "Europe, right?"

"Yes, Matthew… And I'm pretty sure that they would teach you some German or Italian, if-if you asked." Arthur suggested..

Matthew walked over to Ludwig and the two began talking. Arthur closed his eyes with a sigh, and let the few tears that gathered in his eyes to roll down his cheeks, but he quickly wiped them away. He heard Matthew and Ludwig speaking German, and Arthur smiled. Matthew and Alfred always loved learning about other languages and cultures, and even in here, that didn't change.

Arthur glanced to Lovino and noticed that he was fuming in anger. His fists were clenched tightly, and he looked like a ticking time bomb about to explode. But, the Italian wiped the look off of his face when Matthew began walking over to him. Arthur took a deep breath and glanced to Ludwig, who was watching Matthew walk off.

The two spoke to one another, Lovino teaching him some Italian words, the simple hellos and goodbyes that Arthur also knew. Once they were finished, Matthew began walking back to him, with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Have you learnt enough foreign words for now?" Arthur asked with a smile. Sudden fear struck him and his smile faded from his lips. "Do you know where Alfred and Francis are?"

.

 _One Day Earlier_

Francis sat in the parking lot of the elementary school, waiting patiently. The bell rang, announcing that school was over about ten minutes ago, but Alfred nor Matthew had come out. Francis just guessed that they got distracted by their teacher or other classmates. He didn't worry about it, but should he be? _No, Francis, don't be paranoid. It's a school, and schools are safe._

Immediately after that thought, he saw Alfred exit the building, a strange look on his face. As he walked, he looked around, almost like he was searching for something. Although he told himself not to, Francis began to worry because Matthew wasn't walking beside Alfred. Why wasn't Matthew beside Alfred? _Calm down, Francis, they just got separated in the hallway, Matthew will be out shortly._

Alfred got to the car and opened the back passenger-side door.

" _Bonjour,_ Alfred."

"Hi." Alfred greeted in a worried tone.

"Where's Matthew? Did you get separated in the hall?"

Alfred was silent for a moment. "No." He said.

Francis couldn't come up with any reason to not be worried. "Where is he?"

"I don't know." Alfred replied fearfully. "He was called down to the office—"

"When?" Francis interrupted.

Alfred froze. "About halfway through the day."

Francis stared out the windshield, thinking.

"Papa?" Alfred asked in a terrified tone.

Francis took a deep breath. " _Quoi?_ "

"Did you call Mattie out of school?"

Francis turned and looked at Alfred. "You said he was called down to the office."

"Yeah… to leave for the day." Alfred replied.

Francis turned back around and closed his eyes tightly. _There could be a logical reason for this, Bonnefoy, maybe he had a doctor or dentist appointment that Alistair took him to._ Francis doubted that, but he had to try.

He pulled out his phone and searched through his contacts for Alistair.

"Are you calling the cops!" Alfred exclaimed.

"No, I'm calling Allie." Francis replied, trying to calm Alfred down. He patted the front seat. "Come up here and sit with me." He wanted to keep Alfred as close as possible.

"Frank, I'm trying to get as much sleep as possible." Alistair grumbled on the other side of the phone.

"Is Matthew with you?" Francis immediately questioned, ignoring Alistair's complaint.

"Huh?"

"Is Matthew with you?" Francis repeated, raising his voice slightly in panic.

"No." Alistair said like it was obvious. "Why?" His tone turned more serious.

Francis glanced at his scared son that sat beside him. "Hold on for a second." He unbuckled himself and began to step out of the car.

"No, Papa, stay in the car, I'm scared!" Alfred pleaded, tears in his eyes.

Francis stared down at his son for a second, swallowed hard, and sat back down. He pulled Alfred into a half-hug, putting his right arm around Alfred's back and rubbed his right shoulder, hoping that would comfort him. "Alistair," Francis began with a sigh, "he didn't come out of school with Alfred, and according to Alfred, he was called out to leave school early."

Alistair was silent on the other side of the phone.

"Allie?" Francis asked, checking if he was still there.

"Yes?" The redhead replied, Francis noting that it sounded like Alistair was either speaking around a cigarette, or through grit teeth.

"I was just checking if you were still there. But, you didn't call him out of school for any reason, right?" Francis said, double-checking.

"No, I didn't."

Francis held his breath, closing his eyes tightly. He wanted to cry, no, he wanted to sob and scream. Like his life wasn't bad enough already, _this_ had to happen. What did these people even want with him? Why was this happening? He just wanted to shut himself in his house. He's failed as a husband, and he's failed as a father.

"Francis, you still there?"

Taking a few breaths, Francis replied. "Yes."

"I'm going to head up to the school—"

"No, Allie, you shouldn't. You need to work tonight."

"Yeah, because I'll be able to go back to sleep after this." Alistair countered sarcastically.

Francis sighed. "Allie, I'm not in the mood for your sarcasm."

Alistair sighed as well. "I'm sorry."

"Just, stay there. I'm going to talk to the main office." Francis explained.

"Then what?" Alistair asked.

"That depends on what they tell me." Francis said.

"Well, good luck." Alistair responded.

"Thank you." Francis breathed.

"And, stay safe."

"I will." Francis promised, "Bye."

"Bye." Alistair hung up.

Francis buckled himself back in his seat, then looked to Alfred. He didn't want to make Alfred climb into the back seat, but, at his age, Alfred wasn't safe to ride in the front. Francis sighed. "Buckle up, Alfred."

"I'm not supposed to sit up front." Alfred stated.

"It's just to that parking space." Francis reassured.

Alfred did as he was told, and, because Francis carefully pulled into the needed parking space, Alfred was perfectly fine.

"Stay here." Francis ordered, getting out of the car.

"But—"

"Lock the doors with that button over there," Francis interrupted, pointing at the button, "don't unlock it for anyone but me, understand?"

"Yes." Alfred replied.

Francis closed the door and waited until he heard the sound of the car locking. He jogged off, entering the school from the main entrance. He walked through the doors and went straight the the main office, which wasn't too far. He walked up to the front desk, where a woman, who must be in her mid thirties, was sitting.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I need to know who checked out Matthew Kirkland." Francis requested, trying to make his voice sound kind.

"What?"

"Matthew Kirkland, I need to know who took him out of this school today." Francis demanded in an angrier tone.

The lady looked at some papers, but didn't answer his request. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Francis Kirkland, his father."

The woman stared at him with a terrified look. "It was… uh…"

"Who took my son out of this school?" Francis yelled in panic.

"Sir, please, don't yell at me."

"Where is my son?" Francis begged.

"I can't tell you who took him out of the school." She whispered.

Francis narrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

The lady closed her eyes. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Francis asked angrily.

"They threatened my daughter."

Rage flowed through Francis. "They threaten your daughter, so you sell out my son."

"I'm sorry." The woman apologised

Francis closed his eyes. Sure, he was being insensitive, unlike his usual self, but he had already lost his husband, and now his son. And this time, there was someone who could've done something to stop it. Francis walked away, shaking his head. He strode out of the building, and to his car, pulling out his phone and dialing 9-1-1.

.

There were two police cars still sitting in the parking lot, and police were currently interviewing someone who worked in administration. Francis had already given his statement to the police, and so did Alfred. Against his wishes, Alistair showed up, but wasn't questioned. The office lady that Francis spoke to about an hour ago was also questioned by the police, Matthew and Alfred's teacher was questioned, and basically everyone who worked in the attendance office was also questioned.

He was currently sitting in the front passenger seat of his car, the door open, his feet hanging out the side, and hugging Alfred, who was crying and hugging him tightly. It took every ounce of will and strength to keep himself from even tearing up. He didn't want to scare Alfred. He had to stay strong for him.

Alfred began to calm down, now only sniffling and breathing heavily. Francis ran his fingers through Alfred's hair, trying to comfort him. "Alfred." Francis whispered, trying to get his son's attention.

"Yeah?" Alfred sniffled.

"I'm going to go get you some water. Sit where I am, I'll send Allie over."

Alfred looked up at him, his eyes still teary. "Can Uncle Allie get the water? I want to stay with you."

Francis forced a smile. "Of course, I can see that he's headed over here now. I'll ask him."

"Thank you." Alfred whispered.

"Alfred," Francis said again, "get in my seat, though, you should sit down."

Alfred didn't argue, he took a few steps back to give Francis room to move, and then he sat down on the chair. Francis glanced over as Alistair walked up.

"How's he doing?" Alistair asked softly so Alfred couldn't hear.

Francis shook his head. "Not well at all."

Alistair glanced in Alfred's direction sympathetically.

"Can you go and find some water for him. He's unnervingly pale." Francis asked.

"Of course." Alistair replied, "Besides, I could use another cigarette."

"Don't take too long." Francis ordered.

"I'm not going to." Alistair said, walking off.

Francis let out a long sigh. He wasn't sure what to do now. Could he just leave the school and go home? He couldn't right? But what else was he supposed to do? Stand here until Matthew was found? He sighed again.

Sure, Francis didn't know exactly what to do, but he and Alfred were going home soon. They were going to go home and have dinner, whether or not either of them were hungry. Then, they were going to go to bed and get sleep for as long as they can. Alfred wasn't going to go to school tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day, or ever. From now on, Alfred was going to be homeschooled with the help of online courses and his own tutoring. Yeah, that would work. Also, that could give Francis a chance to get more work hours in and get more money again. With the help of Alistair and Arthur's other brothers, Alfred will always have someone to watch over him.

So, now, he had a plan. His gaze fixed on Alfred, who didn't notice that Francis was now looking at him. Alfred was staring forward with a broken, lost look on his face. His bright blue eyes that were usually filled of life, looked grey and empty. At this moment, Francis knew that Alfred would never be the same.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _ **Bonjour (French)- Hello**_

 _ **Quoi (French)- What**_

 **Don't really have much for an author's note this time. Just a reminder that you're reviews and other feedback is very helpful and improves my writing. Also, thank you for so many favorites and follows, I'm glad that I write fanfics that you are interested in.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	14. Fear

Chapter 14

Fear

Francis didn't sleep all last night, but he didn't expect anything different. Matthew had been missing for a whole twenty-four hours. It's been a month since Arthur's disappearance, and he's accepted his death, but how could he ever accept Matthew's? That was his son, and he failed him. He's failed as a husband, and as a father.

 _Non,_ Francis argued. He hasn't failed, he still has Alfred, and he couldn't forget that. He had to protect Alfred, and if anyone was after him, they would have to fight through Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland to get to him. He let out a long, depressed sigh.

"Papa?" Alfred asked in a concerned tone.

Francis closed his eyes. "Yes, Alfred? What is it?"

"The grilled cheese is burning." He commented.

Francis opened his eyes quickly as he noticed the grilled cheese sandwich, which he was making for Alfred, was not only burning, but on fire. " _Mon Dieu!_ " He exclaimed loudly, pulling the skillet off of the stove, turning on the water, and dropping it in the sink, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Aren't you supposed to put baking powder on it?" Alfred said.

Francis stared at the sink, which was still running water over the burnt sandwich. "No, baking soda."

"You didn't put baking soda on it." Alfred noted.

"I know." Francis breathed, "I forgot, that's all."

Alfred hummed. "But you're a cook."

"I know."

Alfred was silent behind him for a long moment. "Papa?"

Francis turned around. " _Oui?_ "

"Are you going to turn the sink off?"

Francis spun around and turned the sink off, and stared at the soggy, burnt sandwich. He hadn't burnt a meal this badly since he first began cooking, and his mother was there to help put it out. He dropped his head in his left hand. He was too damn distracted to do anything, even cook, and he loved cooking. He wanted to cry.

"Are you okay, Papa?" Alfred grabbed his right hand.

Francis picked his head up, and looked down to Alfred, who walked over and took his hand, in a way to comfort. Slowly, he slid down into a sitting position on the floor, and gave Alfred a long hug, in a way to comfort both himself and his son. "I will be." He paused, "We'll be okay."

Alfred hugged him back, giving no other reply. The two sat on the floor, hugging one another for a long moment, until Francis heard Alfred's stomach growl in hunger, and he gave his son a short kiss on the top of his head. He stood and placed Alfred back down in the chair he had been previously sitting in.

The night continued slowly. Francis cleaned up his mess in the kitchen, and remade Alfred's sandwich, and made himself one as well. They mindlessly stared at the T.V. for a few hours, Francis glad to stare at it and lose his mind in the show, only to remember Matthew and Arthur weren't there also. He tried to ignore that.

Eventually Alfred's bedtime rolled around, and Francis tucked him in, kissing him on the forehead, and leaving the room, closing the door and turning the lights off. He was tired from not sleeping the night before, so there was a bigger chance he would sleep. He went to the couch, not even trying to sleep in his and Arthur's bedroom. He laid on the couch, and after a few hours of zoning out, staring at the ceiling, and crying silently, Francis fell asleep. But it was anything but peaceful.

.

 _It was midday, about 4:30, just after Francis picked Alfred up from school—_ which was strange, Alfred was homeschooled— _They decided to go out to lunch, a pizza place just down the road. When they arrived, the pizza shop was oddly empty, but it must've been the time of day. As they sat, however, Francis realized more and more people entering the small shop. They didn't order anything, just sat, slowly surrounding him and Alfred._

 _Francis was choked from behind, and a different person took Alfred— the last of his family— by the hand, and pulled him out of the booth. Alfred fought as hard as he could, but the person who had him picked him up, and carried him over his shoulder, running out._

 _Francis fought as hard as he could, breaking free from the chokehold, only to be caught by someone else. He screamed and cried, trying to get Alfred back, but the man was long gone. He heard a gunshot in the distance, and a child's scream._

 _._

Francis bolted up from his lying position on the couch, sweat collected on his forehead, and tears rolling down his face. _It was a dream, Francis, it was just a dream._ He swallowed hard, his body shaking as he turned and stood up. Walking to the kitchen, he almost felt dizzy. He wiped tears from his face, and sweat from his forehead. Francis turned on the sink and splashed water on his face, and filled a cup with water, then drank it quickly, trying to calm his nerves.

He refilled the glass, and chugged it down just as fast as the other. He placed the glass in the sink, splashed more water on his face, and wiped it off with a paper towel. "You're fine, Francis, Alfred's fine, it was a dream." He whispered to himself.

He went and sat at the kitchen table, trying to relax himself. He sat there for about and hour, it was now _2:50 a.m._ and he should head back to bed. Francis walked down the hall, and to his room to take his pillow. As he strode back down the hallway, however, he heard something. It was coming from Alfred's room. He put his ear closer to the door, and his heart melted. Alfred was crying.

Tossing his pillow back into his room, Francis knocked on Alfred's door. The crying suddenly silenced. "Alfred, may I come in?"

His son sniffled. "Yeah."

Francis turned the handle and opened the door, looking to Alfred's bed, only to see him not there. Instead, he was lying in Matthew's bed, curled up in a ball, holding a stuffed cat, Matthew's favorite, in his arms.

"Oh, Alfred." Francis breathed, walking over and kneeling in front of his son. He wiped tears from the boy's face. "Why are you crying, _mon petit ange_."

Alfred brought his knees closer to himself, squeezing the stuffed cat harder. "Mattie's gone."

Francis fought tears. "I know, I know." He said calmly, running his fingers through Alfred's hair.

"And he's never gonna come back, just like Daddy."

Francis leaned closer. "You don't know that. Matthew's strong."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed quietly, "do you think he'll come back?"

Francis wiped more tears from Alfred's face. "Of course I do. Matthew is very strong, and the police are doing everything they can to find him."

Alfred nodded, sniffling. "Papa?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Can I sleep in your room with you?" Alfred asked.

"Why?" Francis replied, "I thought you liked your room."

"Not anymore. Mattie's not here."

Francis deflated. Over the years, he and Arthur had noticed that Alfred and Matthew always slept on their sides, facing each other. But now, Matthew wasn't here, so every time Alfred would open his eyes, there would be a reminder that his twin brother wasn't there. Francis smiled. "Of course you can." He picked up Alfred, allowing him to keep Matthew's little stuffed cat.

He walked Alfred to his bedroom, and laid him down on his side of the bed, then laid down beside him, on what used to be Arthur's side of the bed. He did this so he would be between Alfred and the door, so if anyone tried to get Alfred, they'd have to go through Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland.

"Good night, Alfie." Francis said kindly.

"Hey Papa, do you think you could sing _Lucy in the Sky?_ " Alfred requested.

Francis stared at his son. It had been years since Alfred requested to be sung to sleep, and they would usually ask Arthur because of his deeper singing voice. But then again, Arthur wasn't here. Francis ran his fingers through Alfred's hair again. "Of course I will."

And Francis did, he sang the whole song, and Alfred was asleep in his arms, still holding Matthew's stuffed cat. He even relaxed himself with the song, and drifted off into a light, and unsatisfying sleep, but at least he slept.

.

 _Earlier_

Arthur didn't sleep, which made him more tired than usual. Even with the threat of death hanging over his head, he always managed to sleep, he's gotten to used to that feeling, but now there was the threat of Matthew's death, so there was no way in hell that he would sleep. Especially after being separated from him yesterday. He needed to thank Ludwig and Lovino for looking after him, and keeping him calm while Arthur was out of the room, and getting his usual beating.

The door started to open, and Arthur sat up and turned, putting Matthew behind him, who was asleep in his arms. He grit his teeth, readying himself for anything. But someone only took a few steps in the room, set down a tray of food and water, then closed and locked the door.

Arthur directed his attention to the right where Lovino stirred, sitting up slowly from his lying position, showing obvious signs of pain in his back. Arthur laughed softly at the Italian, who gave him a glare.

"And I thought my back hurt yesterday." Ludwig complained, catching Arthur's attention.

Arthur only laughed again, slightly harder, but managed to keep himself from coughing. "You should be in here for a couple months, then you can complain about your back." He countered.

"My back hurts." Matthew groaned, still sitting in Arthur's lap, and leaning his head against his shoulder.

Arthur gave Matthew a sweet smile. "I'm sorry, my son, but there's not much I can do this time."

"Also, you've only been here a month." Matthew mumbled.

Arthur narrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"You said 'You should be in here for a couple months'" Matthew quoted, "you've only been gone a month."

"Only a month, huh…" Arthur breathed in disbelief. _It's only been a month,_ it certainly didn't feel like a month.

Ludwig walked up, holding the tray of food and water, and Arthur glanced back to see Lovino already eating. "Thank you." Arthur replied, just before Matthew said the same thing, gratefully taking their meals.

Ludwig only replied with a nod, before walking off and sitting back down, eating his food.

Arthur ate quietly, Matthew sliding off of his lap, but didn't go any farther than sitting right next to him. Over the night and that morning, Matthew seemed almost protective of Arthur, which was sweet, but it was probably because of yesterday's events, of Arthur being pulled out of the room to be tortured, and Matthew left alone in here with two men he's only known for a day. Two days now.

Ludwig and Lovino were quiet most of the day, it seemed like they were still tired, but Arthur didn't blame them. They weren't used to the constant tiredness that he was.

"Daddy," Matthew began in a tired tone, "do you think you could sing " _Lucy in the Sky?_ "

Arthur stared down at his son. It seemed out of context, but why not? Young Matthew was scared and tired, why wouldn't he sing one of his favorite songs to his son? "Of course I will." He smiled, and glanced up at Ludwig and Lovino.

Lovino didn't seem to notice the request, and Ludwig gave him a nod. "I won't stop you."

"Stop him?" Lovino questioned, obviously confused.

"He's going to sing to his son." Ludwig replied.

Lovino looked even more confused. "O-kay?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, ignoring them. He cleared his throat, remembering that his voice wasn't that strong, so it would be very soft. Also, he would probably end up coughing, but he didn't really care. He began singing in a low tone, trying not to strain his voice too much. Once he was finished, Matthew, who was resting his head up against his shoulder, had fallen asleep.

He glanced up to Ludwig, who was staring off, probably thinking of his family or friends. He looked over to Lovino, to see him also asleep. Arthur couldn't hold back his laughter, he covered his mouth, though, to try and keep it quiet so he wouldn't rouse, but it caught Ludwig's attention.

"Apparently singing also works on Lovino." Arthur teased, pointing to the dark haired Italian.

Ludwig laughed as well, not disturbing Lovino at all.

Arthur decided to let the Italian sleep, he would need it, no matter the kidnapper's plans for him. The hours slid by, Lovino waking up only after about twenty minutes. Ludwig teased him, and the two argued a bit, but Arthur made sure they kept their voices down so Matthew could continue sleeping, but he eventually woke as well, only about an hour after Lovino did.

More hours passed, and Arthur was glad that the day was moving as fast as it was, but a bad feeling settled in his gut when he realized one thing. He hadn't been beaten yet, which meant they were planning something, but what?

"Alright," Lovino began, cutting into Arthur's thoughts, "Is anyone sharing my bad feeling, or am I just crazy?"

 _Dammit_ , Arthur yelled inside his mind, realizing that he wasn't the only one with a bad feeling. Maybe it was a coincidence? Doubtful.

But nothing happened as another hour passed, but, as suspected, the peace was broken with the sound of that damn door opening again. Without hesitation, the scarred man paced in, and walked straight to Arthur, causing him to hide Matthew behind his back, in the only way that he could protect him.

The scarred man stopped in front of him. "Move." He ordered simply.

Arthur's heart began pounding against his chest as ice cold fear and anger shot through his veins. "W-What?"

"You heard me, Kirkland, move!"

Arthur swallowed hard, narrowing his eyes, pressing himself further against the wall, hiding Matthew more. "No!" He hissed.

The man with the scar smiled darkly, taking a step back, and allowing two of his men to attack him. Arthur fought as hard as he could, be he was also trying to stay in front of Matthew. The men quickly pried him from the wall. "No!" He screamed in a panic.

Without a warning, Ludwig came out of nowhere, and punched someone, knocking them out instantly, and Lovino tripped the other man. For a moment Arthur thought he would be able to get back to Matthew, but the man with the scar was faster, and put a gun to Matthew's head, cocking it, showing that he was ready to shoot.

Everyone in the room froze.

"Kirkland. Vargas. Beilschmidt." The scarred man began, in a strangely calm tone, "On your knees with your hands on your head, or Matt's brains will be all over the wall." He stared directly at Arthur, challenging him.

Arthur didn't hesitate. He fell to his knees, and put his handcuffed hands on his head.

"Daddy." Matthew whimpered, tears in his eyes.

The man with the scar repositioned his finger on the trigger. "Shut it, kid! Unless you really want a bullet in your brain!"

Matthew silently trembled, tears rolling down his face.

"We did as we were told, you can put the gun down." Lovino hissed.

Sudden hatred flowed through Arthur towards the Italian that he'd befriended over the past few days, but he was now endangering Matthew with just speaking. He glared at Lovino, but he didn't seem to notice the hate in his eye.

The scarred man followed Arthur's stare, and looked to Lovino. "Wow, you really wanna kill Kirkland's son, don't ya, Vargas?"

"Why the hell would I?" Lovino challenged.

"Then shut your damn trap, and I won't shoot his brains out!" The man yelled, his voice echoing through the room.

Arthur didn't take his eyes off Lovino, giving him a silent threat. The Italian made eye contact for a short moment, before he looked back to the scarred man. Arthur directed his attention back to Matthew and his attacker, who snapped his fingers, ordering one of his men to step forward, and take Matthew by the wrist, and began pulling him away.

"No!" Arthur pleaded loudly, trying to get them to take him instead, but his captors ignored him, walking out, forcing Matthew to follow. The door closed.

Without hesitation, Arthur sprinted to the door, not caring about the pain in his own body. He slammed himself against the door, trying to throw it open. "No, Matthew, no! Leave my son alone! Don't hurt my son!"

He studied the door, glancing from one side to another, looking for a weak point. He found nothing. A parental instinct flooded over him, and he forgot about his own pain, forgot about Lovino, forgot about Ludwig. The only thing that mattered what getting to Matthew. Arthur began trying to pry the door open, clawing at the tiny space between the door and the doorframe. The metal of the door cut open his fingers and hands, but he didn't even feel the pain. He just continued trying to force the door open.

Arthur was suddenly grabbed from behind by one person, who was trying to pull him from his place in front of the door. Arthur fought against him.

"Arthur!" The person yelled, and Arthur recognised the voice as Ludwig, "Arthur, you can't open the door!" Ludwig paused, trying to force him away from the door, but wasn't having much luck. "Are you even hearing me?"

Tears began rolling down Arthur's face. "They'll hurt him! They'll kill him!" He cried.

"You don't know that!" Someone else, who he recognised as Lovino, argued, taking ahold of him, and pulling him away from the door. Arthur fought hard, but he was overpowered by the two, and they managed to pull him away.

They had him by the back wall, and just stood still, restraining him. Arthur was growing weak, some of the pain in his body returning.

"They probably aren't hurting him… They're probably doing this to psychologically torture you." Ludwig reassured, still holding onto Arthur.

On cue, there was a high pitched scream. "Help!"

 _Matthew._ Arthur immediately recognised. He stopped fighting against Ludwig and Lovino, the pain in his body fading as adrenaline returned. He stared at the large, heavy, metal door between him and Matthew. He took a moment to catch his breath and regain his strength.

"Daddy, help me!"

Barely a heartbeat passed after hearing his son cry for help, before Arthur broke out of Lovino and Ludwig's grip, and he bolted back to the door, throwing himself against it, trying to break it down. "MATTHEW!" Arthur screamed, and heard it echo throughout the room. He didn't break the door down, so he had to pull it open. He pried at the tiny space between the door and the doorframe once again, cutting open his hands even more.

Ludwig and Lovino tore him from the door again, and to the back wall, sitting him down on the floor. Lovino got in front of him, becoming another obstacle between him and Matthew.

"Arthur," Lovino began, "Get a hold of yourself! They're not going to kill Matthew!"

Arthur looked up to Lovino, giving his a fearful, pleading look. "How do you know?"

"They're trying to scare you, intimidate you. They're showing you what they can do to try and get you to cooperate." Lovino explained.

He panted, trying to make sense of what Lovino was saying. It made sense, but it didn't calm him at all. It worried him even more. His heart pounded against his chest, and he panted faster, but it only got harder to breathe. "I-I-I-..I-I…" Arthur clutched his chest with his hands.

Lovino held onto his shoulders. "You what?" He demanded.

"I-I…" Arthur took a moment to gather what he was going to say. "I can't breathe!" He exclaimed quietly.

Lovino stepped back, giving him space. "Are you having a heart attack?"

Arthur only shook his head in reply, trying to catch his breath. He began to cry, which only made it harder to breathe.

"Just take deep breaths." Ludwig, who was still holding onto him, instructed in a calm and kind tone.

"Trying…" Arthur choked.

"Ludwig," Lovino began, raising his voice, "let go of him so he can."

"He'll try and pry the door open again if I do." The German argued, which if Arthur had more energy, he would.

"No…" Arthur paused, panting, "I can barely feel my legs."

Ludwig slowly let go of him.

Arthur could feel his body begin to shake. He closed his eyes. "They'll kill him."

"He's going into shock." Arthur heard Lovino whisper.

That sounded right. Going into shock seemed like exactly what was happening to him. "They'll kill him… Just like Peter…" He muttered, remembering his young companion. They killed a child before, they would kill child again.

Ludwig and Lovino began mumbling to themselves, but Arthur didn't hear them, nor did he care to hear them. "They'll get Alfred too!" He yelled.

"What? No, Arthur, don't think like that. Keep some hope." Ludwig countered.

Arthur laughed at Ludwig's sentence. _Hope?_ If he still had hope, he'd still be trying to escape. He'd still be fighting every day. But now, he was letting them torture him to death, he couldn't win. There was no such thing as hope. They got Matthew, they could get Alfred, Francis, Alistair, Patrick, Dylan, anyone that Arthur could care about. Lovino's family, Ludwig's family. "Hope? They'll kill my whole family!"

Arthur couldn't fight his tears, it wasn't just crying, but sobbing. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Ludwig, crying into his black T-shirt. It seemed like forever they were like that, Arthur calming down, and turning away from Ludwig, leaning his back against the wall, still crying. He wiped tears from his face, successfully stopping himself from crying.

The door opened.

Arthur tried to jump up, and run out to save Matthew, but Lovino put his hand on his chest, stopping Arthur. He gave Lovino a threatening glare. Matthew was thrown into the room by one of the scarred man's henchmen.

Arthur pushed away from Lovino and Ludwig, not caring if they said anything to him or if they tried to stop him. He wrapped his arms around Matthew, and brought him to the corner furthest away from the door, and put himself between the door and Matthew. His son was tear streaked, and bruised, but besides that, Arthur couldn't detect any other injuries.

"Matthew, what did they do to you? Where do you hurt? Are you bleeding?" Arthur questioned rapidly.

Matthew paused before answering, wiping tears from his eyes. "My head and face hurts. And I'm not bleeding, they didn't scratch me, but-but they did hit me."

He unwrapped his arms from around Matthew, and inspected every bruise on his face. The poor boy was beaten, and Arthur failed to protect him. "I'm so sorry, Matthew. I'm so sorry." He wiped tears from his eyes, but they were replaced.

"It's okay, Daddy." Matthew reassured, sniffling.

Arthur leaned against the wall, closing his eyes slowly, and holding his son. "It's okay, Matthew. It's okay, Matthew. It's okay, Matthew. It's okay, Matthew. It's okay, Matthew…"

"Daddy?" Matthew sounded concerned.

Arthur snapped his eyes open, wondering what his son needed. "Yes? What is it Matthew? What do you need me to do?"

"You keep saying the same thing." Matthew answered sheepishly.

Arthur gave a confused look. "What? What do you mean?"

Matthew looked up to him. "You keep saying 'It's okay, Matthew' over and over again."

Arthur stared down at his son, realizing that he _was_ repeating that. He blinked, trying to clear his mind. "It is okay, Matthew. You'll be okay. You'll be fine."

Matthew continued staring at him, with his terrified, lavender eyes. He narrowed his eyebrows. "You'll be okay, too. Right, Daddy?"

Arthur wanted to reassure him that he would, but he had a panic attack just moments ago, and he was currently being tortured to death. He couldn't tell Matthew no, because that would scare him. The only answer seemed to be "I don't know," but for some reason, a different statement escaped his lips. "Just get some rest, Matthew. Today was very scary for you…" Apparently he went with not answering at all.

Matthew didn't reply, he just looked down, closed his eyes, and laid his head on Arthur's chest, and Arthur began running his fingers through his hair. It was always something he and Francis did to calm the boys. Matthew fell asleep in his arms, and Arthur closed his eyes, trying to drift off into a slumber as well, when he heard Lovino mumble something.

"He have to get out of here."

Arthur opened his eyes and looked down to his hands, that were covered in dried blood. _Good luck with that._

* * *

 **Translations**

 _ **Non (French)- No**_

 _ **Mon Dieu (French)- My God**_

 _ **Oui (French)- Yes**_

 _ **Mon petit ange (French)- My little angel**_

 **I'm sorry. This was one of the saddest and painful chapters I've written, but I really hope you liked it. With everything happening with Alfred and Francis, along with the Arthur and Matthew, this was very angsty, to say the least.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	15. Pushed Away and Torn Apart

Chapter 15

Pushed Away and Torn Apart

" _I always know where Mattie is!"_

That was once something Alfred had yelled at Alistair, accusing him of being a terrible brother for not knowing where Dad was. Alfred was wrong. He now understood the pain, and regretted the words that ever escaped his lips. How could Alistair forgive him, though? Alfred called him a horrible brother, and he wouldn't be surprised that Alistair was actually lying on the couch crying just as Alfred was. Except he was making sure to be quiet, and to keep his tears silent. His papa was sitting just in the dining room, within earshot.

His back was to the world, he faced the pillows that lined the back of the couch, curled up in a ball, hiding himself. He felt bad. Not just for Alistair, but for Papa. He would barely talk to Papa, but he didn't feel like talking to him. He didn't understand. Sure, he lost his son, but Alfred lost his _brother,_ something only Uncle Allie, Pattie, or Dyl would understand.

He didn't want to do his schoolwork today, and Papa said he understood, but he truly didn't. Papa said that he would do it over the weekend, but Alfred doubted that he would want to do then either. Still crying, Alfred cursed the world. Why did this have to happen to _him,_ why not anyone else? Did they do something to deserve this pain? Was the world against them?

"Alfred?"

 _Oh no,_ Alfred thought, _he's going to know that I was crying, then he'll try to calm me down._ He ignored his father.

"Alfie." Papa said in a broken tone, sounding like he was going to cry as well.

Alfred grew sympathetic. He couldn't just ignore Papa this way, he was suffering just as much as he was, he didn't deserve this on top of everything else. Alfred sniffled. "Yes?"

Papa paused for a moment. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

 _I haven't been hungry in two and a half days,_ Alfred thought. "No."

"What do you want to eat?"

"I'm not hungry." Alfred grumbled.

"You need to eat." Papa emphasized.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I don't care."

"What?" Papa exclaimed loudly. "Alfie, please, we've been over this."

Alfred closed his eyes tightly. He knew he wouldn't win this fight, just as he didn't last night. "Fine," He muttered, "can we have leftover pizza from the other night?"

Papa paused. " _Oui,_ I'll go warm it up." He walked away.

Alfred felt terrible again. He's treating Papa horribly, just as he did with Allie. Papa is just trying to be nice, and he's snapping at him in anger. Even though he wanted to cry his eyes out, he made himself calm down, taking deep breaths and wiping wet tears from his eyes and cheeks.

Then, he froze.

He realized something. Matthew wasn't just missing like Daddy, but in danger. Not just in danger, in pain. Matthew was scared, hurt, and alone. All alone. Alfred couldn't help but let more tears fall, he couldn't keep them quiet this time, either. He sobbed, and Papa came over quickly, trying to help him.

"Alfred, _mon petit ange,_ why are you crying?" Papa asked kindly, pulling Alfred closer to him.

"Mattie is hurt! He's scared!" Alfred exclaimed, blurting out his feelings, crying more.

"Alfred," Papa said soothingly, "you don't know that. He's probably not hurt, you're just worrying—"

"No!" Alfred interrupted, "He's in pain, I _know_ he is!"

For a long time, Papa didn't say anything. He just stared at him, then pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his back. It felt nice, to be wrapped in his father's warm arms, comforted. "I'm sorry, Papa." Alfred whispered.

"You've done nothing wrong, _mon fils._ " Papa reassured.

Alfred hugged his papa tightly, sobbing. "I've been mean to you."

"No you haven't," Papa replied nicely, "you're just grieving, I understand."

"I'm sorry." Alfred repeated.

Papa pulled out of the hug and wiped the tears from Alfred's face. "You don't have to apologize."

"No," Alfred began, "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

Papa stared at him again. "I'm sorry, too. You shouldn't have to go through this, Alfie."

Alfred gulped, wanting to change the subject. "Is dinner ready?"

" _Oui._ " Papa said simply, standing up and walking with Alfred to the kitchen, where they ate their pizza in silence.

.

Francis was far from alright, but he's been like that for a month now, he was getting used to that feeling. It was past midnight, and he was still awake. He didn't want to bother Alfred, who was asleep in his bed, so Francis sat on a chair, on his laptop, doing research. However, he was too paranoid to leave Alfred alone in the room, so he sat in front of his bedroom door, directing the bright screen of his laptop away from the seven year old who laid asleep.

He was doing research, trying to explain to himself what the hell happened earlier. Alfred _knew_ Matthew was in pain, and Francis had to figure out what he meant. He's heard of "twin sense" before, but never exactly knew what it was. He learned that twins, especially identical twins, as Alfred and Matthew are, have the uncanny connection with each other. _Some twins can even feel pain for one another._

Francis glanced up from his laptop and looked to his son, who laid seemingly asleep. Alfred said that he knew Matthew was scared and in pain, which made Francis wonder if his son felt his brother's pain. Which if Alfred could feel Matthew's agony and fear, then that meant Alfred was right. Matthew was hurt.

Francis had no idea what to do with this information. He felt like he was going to cry, but it also relieved him, even though it sounded bad. If Matthew was scared, or in pain, it meant he was alive, and Francis was pretty sure that if Matthew died, Alfred would've reacted, and Francis would know by now. So Matthew was alive, or at least currently. It wasn't exactly good news, but at least he had one answer to the insane amount of questions that were stuffed into his mind with no outlet. Slowly and quietly, Francis closed his laptop, and crawled into bed beside his son, trying not to wake Alfred.

.

Matthew was lying on the cold ground. It wasn't comfortable, but at least Daddy was with him. He watched as Lovino paced back and forth, like a caged animal. Matthew noticed a limp in the way he walked, and wondered if he had that injury before the was kidnapped, or if it was because of their captors. He glanced up to Daddy, who was running his fingers through his tangled hair, trying his best to calm him, but it wasn't really working. It was a sweet gesture, though.

Ludwig was tired, Matthew could tell that much. The blonde was watching Lovino pace with a exhausted, expressionless stare. He hadn't really realized how being in here may have changed Ludwig and Lovino. He focused mainly on himself, his pounding headache was distracting. He also focused on Daddy. Matthew could tell that he wasn't alright, even when he would say that he was, he wasn't. He was hurt, bleeding, and just emotionally not okay.

"Would you stop pacing?" Ludwig asked in an annoyed tone.

Matthew turned his attention to the two adults, wondering how this would unfold.

"Oh, _mi scusi_ , but I'm trying to figure out how the hell were going to get out of here!" Lovino yelled at Ludwig, turning on his heel to face him.

Ludwig glared at the Italian. "And you think I haven't been?"

Matthew opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to calm them down. He came up with nothing.

"Well you haven't come up with anything!" Lovino accused.

Ludwig stood up, and Matthew guessed he was trying to threaten Lovino. "Neither have you."

Lovino spun around and ignored the German, and continued pacing. Matthew hoped they would end the fight there, and maybe try to work together. But, Ludwig caught Lovino, who was pacing again, by the shoulder. "Stop." Ludwig growled.

Lovino slapped Ludwig's hand off of his shoulder. "Don't touch me." He threatened.

Matthew looked up to Daddy, who now had his eyes open and was glaring at the two. He didn't say a word, though.

"Stop that pacing." Ludwig replied.

Lovino took a challenging step forward. "Make me, potato bastard."

Ludwig clenched his fists in anger, almost like he was going to punch Lovino. Matthew closed his eyes, not wanting to watch them fight. They had enough problems, this didn't need to this happen as well.

"Oh for God's sake, would you two just stop?" Daddy yelled from his sitting position beside Matthew.

Ludwig and Lovino both looked over in confusion. "Huh?" They said simultaneously.

Daddy only continued his rant. "How about this, both of you swallow your testosterone, calm down, and think! We're trapped in a small room together, we don't have the time to fight like a bunch of fifteen year old boys trying to prove who deserves the girl! Put your bloody heads together!"

Matthew gave a sigh of relief, glad that the fight was over.

"Maybe we would figure this out faster if you were helping instead of petting your son." Lovino countered, gesturing towards Matthew with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but I am. Do you really think I'm going to sit here and yell at you, but do absolutely nothing? Do you really think that I can't multitask to help figure this out, and keep my seven year old son calm?" Daddy yelled back, Matthew hearing the strain in his weak voice.

There was a silence in the room, and everyone seemed afraid to break it. Matthew just glanced from one adult to the next, wondering who would be the first to shatter the silence. It was Lovino.

"How are we going to get that door open?" The Italian asked, changing the subject.

Ludwig sighed. "No _verdammt_ clue."

Matthew stared down at the floor, thinking. He was unable to come up with an idea, all they had was a lightbulb and the four of them.

"Well, what do we have in here?" Daddy asked.

"There are the four of us." Lovino began.

"And a light bulb and chain…" Ludwig finished.

"We could unscrew the light bulb, break the glass, then use the broken light bulb glass that is still attached to kill someone." Lovino suggested.

Matthew gave Lovino a panicked look. _Kill someone?_ He thought, _were they really planning to kill someone?_

"I doubt that would kill someone." Ludwig replied.

"Depends where you aim." Daddy added.

Matthew was staring at the floor in disbelief. _They're actually going to kill someone._

"But," Ludwig began, "how do we use the lightbulb to open the door?"

Matthew hung his head slightly. They were going to kill someone, but maybe that's the only way out. They're trapped in a room, and slowly dying. Maybe they have to take a life to save themselves? It didn't seem right.

The door began to open.

Immediately after they heard the sound of the metal screeching and unlocking, Daddy pushed Matthew behind him in a protective manner. Matthew tried to swallow his fear, but he put his hand to his face, and felt the bruise. _What if they do worse to me this time?_

"Vargas." The scarred man called, "Come here. We're takin' ya home, _if_ your family cooperates."

"What?" Lovino exclaimed in disbelief.

"If your family cooperates, they will give me the money, and you get to go home to them." The man with the scar explained.

There was a long pause, and Matthew strained his neck to peek over his father's shoulder. Nothing was happening.

"What about them?" Lovino asked cautiously.

"Ludwig will be returned once your family cooperates."

"What about the Kirklands?" Lovino demanded.

"You aren't affiliated with them." The scarred man hissed. Matthew grew nervous at the tone in the scarred man's voice.

Apparently that wasn't a good enough answer for Lovino. "What about the Kirklands?"

"Just go."

The last voice was from his father. It was weak and tired, but an order. Matthew looked up to Daddy, some confusion in his eyes, until he realized his point. Lovino should get out while he has the chance. Matthew could understand, but he was also scared for the Italian, who knew if they were telling the truth?

"Go." Daddy repeated softly.

Without a word, but a terrified glance, Lovino turned and followed the captors, who silently closed the large door. Daddy didn't move from his position. He was still sitting in the corner, Matthew still behind him, hidden, protected. Or so he thought.

After only a few minutes of the three of them staring in fear at the door, unsure what would actually happen to Lovino, the door opened quickly, a lot of men, including the man with the scar, entering. Daddy pressed himself further against the wall, slightly hurting Matthew, but he didn't care, he didn't want those men to take him away, not again.

But they did. Without saying a word to Matthew's father, two men attacked him, ripping him from the wall. Scared, Matthew lunged forward, pulling at Daddy's shirt, hoping that would help. He heard Ludwig struggling with his own attackers, but Matthew was too focused on helping Daddy to even look over. The men were stronger, however, and they pulled Dad from the wall, throwing him down to the ground behind them, someone kneeling on his back, pushing his face down into the concrete.

Fear washed over Matthew as he stared at Daddy, who mouthed the word "run" to him. Matthew's eyes adjusted to the open door, before he took off running, following his father's order. But he was caught. Quickly. He barely got anywhere before they caught him, and began pulling him out of the room. He fought hard against them, but wasn't strong enough to break free. Tears swelled in his eyes, and he began crying, trying to gain freedom. But he wouldn't get it. He heard the door close, and he realized that he was on the other side of it. Alone.

Scared to look at anyone, Matthew hung his head, allowing his bangs to hide his eyes as he sobbed in fear. "Please…" He begged, "please don't hurt me."

Out of nowhere, without a word, he was given a strong punch to the face. He held his face as he fell to the ground, sobbing harder. He removed his hands from his face to see crimson blood on his hands glistening in the little sunlight that poured through the small window. Matthew put his hands back to his face, and felt blood coming from his nose, the source of the pain on his face.

Down the hall, in the room where his father and Ludwig were, he heard yelling. Matthew recognised his father's voice, screaming desperately.

"Stop crying." The man above him growled, his fists clenched in anger.

Matthew stared up at him, wiping tears from his face, but they were quickly replaced. He began shaking, he couldn't stop crying. _Stop crying,_ he ordered himself, _stop crying, please, stop crying._

Then he remembered something. His father's order from before. _Run._ Turning his head back to the floor, he searched through his bangs that hung in his face, trying to find the he entered through the other day. His eyes landed on it. It was across the room from where he was currently, too far. Way too far. But he could try, right? If he could get to safety…

Matthew hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, and took off running, again, keeping on hand on his bleeding nose. His attempts came to no avail. He was caught by the back of his collar, and thrown onto his back, all his breath exiting his lungs. He tried catching his breath, but when he saw the man with the scar, he held it, not daring to breathe.

He tried to force himself not to cry, but tears rolled down his face anyway. He was unable to stop the tears, and he would be hurt because of it. Matthew, giving up, turned onto his left side, away from the scarred man, and curled up in a ball.

Without a word, he was taken by the hair, pulled to his feet, and drug down the hallway, back to the chamber he was previously trapped in. As they neared the door, he was thrown into it, but he managed to put his hands in front of his face to slow the impact by at least a little.

Taken by the hair and pulled to his feet again, the door opened, and he was tugged into the center of the room, and pushed to the floor.

"Noah," The man with the scar hissed, "kill him."

"What?" Daddy screamed, "No please! Don't do this! You don't have to do this! I can get you the money!"

"Shut him up!" The scarred man ordered.

Matthew, again, tried to run, but he was caught, and a gun was pressed against his temple. He began to cry again.

"Don't do this! Don't" Daddy sobbed.

"Kirkland, I told you this, I don't work with children."

"Kill me!" Daddy yelled, "Leave him alone! Kill me!"

The scarred man rolled his eyes. "Noah, kill him." He said again.

Matthew covered his eyes.

A loud gunshot echoed through the room.

But Matthew was perfectly fine. He slowly opened his eyes, to see his father standing in front of him, the gun in his hands, panting. He could feel blood on the back of his head, so Matthew turned to look behind him, only to see the man named Noah struggling to breathe on the ground, blood pouring out of his chest. He heard movement beside him, and another man, not the one with the scar, ran forward. Matthew hid behind his father, who shot the gun again, the bullet hitting him directly in the face, blood streaking the wall behind him, his face far from in tact.

Daddy pulled the trigger again, the gun pointed at the man with the scar, the man who's responsible for all of this. But no bullet left the chamber. Instead, Matthew heard a _click_ come from the gun.

"No!" Daddy growled desperately, pulling the trigger multiple times, but only the clicking sound came from it. "NO!" He yelled.

The man with the scar laughed. "You think I'd bring a fully loaded gun in here?" He shook his head, "You've tried killing me once, Kirkland, it's not happening again."

Daddy began panting heavily. "I _hate_ you."

That was a sentence Matthew had heard Daddy say to Papa, but the way it sounded was different. There was actual hatred in Daddy's voice, so it was true. It wasn't joking or bickering, but true hatred.

They were attacked again, the gun getting taken away, and Daddy and Matthew getting torn apart. The man with the scar had a knife to his throat, and was stroking his hair.

"Kirkland you made a mistake here." The scarred man began, "You see, I was going to give him a quick, painless death, but now he's going to _suffer._ "

Daddy didn't answer, tears just rolled down his face.

"You also told me something earlier." The man with the scar recalled, "You told me to kill you, and to leave him alone. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"What do you mean?" Ludwig asked carefully.

"What I mean, Ludwig, is I'm going to leave little Matthew alone. All alone." He continued petting Matthew's bloodstained hair. "He's going to die of dehydration here, while I torture his father to death somewhere else."

Matthew closed his eyes tightly, squeezing tears out of his eyes, and clenching his teeth.

"Didn't I tell you to stop crying." The man hissed, pulling his head up by the hair, and pressing the knife further against his throat, but didn't pierce the skin.

"I'm sorry." Matthew whimpered.

"Not yet." The man replied in a menacing tone.

Matthew, finally, forced himself to stop crying, but couldn't stop shaking.

"Kirkland, you're going to pay for these deaths today. And I'll enjoy every second of it."

Daddy was at a loss of words. Matthew glanced at him multiple times, the way he was pushed to the ground, held down by two people who were stronger, each of them threatening him with a knife. He looked hopeless and scared. Like he was trying to figure out a way to comfort Matthew, but there was no way to. Matthew decided to comfort him.

"I love you, Daddy." Matthew whispered, knowing that there was nothing Daddy could do to save him this time. Although he wanted to be rescued like in the movies, Matthew by now, knew it wasn't as simple as that. He knew Daddy couldn't do anything to save him.

"I love you, Matthew." Daddy replied, tears rolling down his face.

"Everything is going to be okay." Ludwig said, also trying to comfort.

Matthew looked to him. He doubted Ludwig's promise, but he smiled at the sweet gesture. "Thank you."

"Aw, how sweet," The man with the scar spat sarcastically, "put 'em in the car!"

With each movement, Daddy fought against the men. Matthew wanted to stay with him, he felt safe with him, but there was nothing he could do but failed attempts at escape. But he still needed to try, right?

Matthew began fighting against the man holding onto him, but his efforts were ineffective, the man had a tight grip on him, and showed no sign of loosening. He still fought, trying to pry his hand free of the man's clutches, he looked to his father and Ludwig, who were being pulled out into the hall. They both fought hard, three men needing to hold back Ludwig, and two needing to hold back Daddy.

"Let go of me!" Matthew screamed, biting onto the man's hand hard, tasting a little blood. He turned and ran.

"Matthew!" Daddy yelled desperately.

He sprinted to the door. "Daddy!" He called, outstretching his left hand. Daddy outstretched his hand, pulling against the men who restrained him. Matthew sprinted as hard as he could through the bloodstained room, trying to get to his father.

The door slammed closed.

Matthew let out a scream of pain as he felt his left hand get crushed between the heavy, silver door, and its threshold. Tears streaked down his face as he pulled his hand out of the doorway, cradling it gingerly.

"Matthew!" Daddy cried, his voice slightly muffled because of the closed door, "Let go of me! Let go—"

A loud gunshot echoed through the hallway and into the cement room, which was immediately followed by a high-pitched scream from his father.

"Daddy!" Matthew shouted, frantically slamming his right hand against the door, "Daddy?"

"Arthur!" Ludwig exclaimed.

On the other side of the door, Matthew could hear his father making loud sounds of whimpering and agony. Quietly, Daddy called, "Matthew…"

"Daddy!" Matthew repeated, raising his voice more. There was no reply. "Daddy!" He began to cry between his words. "Answer me! Please!"

Suddenly, Matthew was pulled by the hair again, by the man he forgot was in there with him. He was thrown to the back wall, but Matthew didn't fight. He just stared at the door in horror. Handcuffs were slapped onto his wrists, pain shooting through his probably broken hand, that was already bruising. His his feet were shackled to the wall, by a large, thick pipe that lined part of the floor. A cloth was shoved into his mouth, and tied around the back of his head, gagging him. Through the whole process of restraining him, Matthew didn't fight. He only cried silently, staring at the door where he last saw his father, before he fell silent forever.

As the two corpses were dragged out of the room, and every kidnapper drove away, fleeing the scene, Matthew stared at the door in horror. Tears rolled down his face until he had no more tears to shed. He tugged at the chain around his feet just to test its strength, but he didn't even try to break them. He _knew_ he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. If Daddy, the most indestructible man Matthew knew, wasn't strong enough, then how could he be? He finally tore his eyes off of the door, and hung his head, letting his bangs dangle in front of his eyes. Daddy was dead, and soon he would be too.

There was no hope for him.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _ **Oui (French)-**_ **Yes**

 _ **Mon petit ange (French)- My little angel**_

 _ **Mon fils (French)- My son**_

 _ **Mi scusi (Italian)- Excuse me**_

 _ **Verdammt (German)- Dammit/Damn it**_

 **Very, very emotional, right? This is probably the climax of the story, but I'm pretty sure that you've caught onto that by now. I hope this chapter is well executed, and I hope that I wrote in Matthew and Alfred's view correctly.**

 **There is a huge cliffhanger, so please, don't let this chapter be the reason you stop reading, please read on.**

 **On a lighter note, just so you know, this is very random, but I ate a roast beef sandwich while writing this chapter. I know it's a bit too much info, but I thought that would get you to laugh or something.**

 **Anywho,**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	16. Incomplete

Chapter 16

Incomplete

Matthew shivered. The cement room was oddly colder than usual, but then again, he was alone. His stomach roared for food, and Matthew gripped it with his right hand, not daring to move his left, which was probably broken. His throat was dry, and he was tired, but the pain in his hand kept him awake. His jaw ached from the gag, and he could feel his heartbeat in his nose, which was also probably broken.

He lifted his head, squinting his tired eyes at the light that hung alone in the chamber. It flickered, and Matthew got scared. Not only would he be alone, but he would be in the dark? He wasn't necessarily afraid of the dark, but it was still unnerving, especially now. Strangely, he began to think about Alfred. He smiled slightly as he remembered the time that their night light went out in the middle of the night, and he didn't want to bother Daddy or Papa, so he slept in between Matthew and the wall, because he's so afraid of the dark.

Matthew's eyes dropped to the floor, tears staining them. He was surprised, he thought he had cried all the tears he could shed, but there was apparently more. The light flickered. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face, and dropping onto the floor. He whimpered quietly, scared for his Papa, and for Alfred. He cried, mourning Daddy.

But then he heard movement. Matthew's head shot up as he stared at the door. He heard faint chatter, and footsteps, but he couldn't make out anything past that. The footsteps echoed in the hallway ominously, and his heart began to race. _Did they come back to get me? Are they going to kill me?_

Matthew wanted to stay quiet, hoping that if it was the violent men, they wouldn't notice he was there. But what if it wasn't the kidnappers? What if it was the help that Daddy promised?

Matthew tried to call for help, but it came out too muffled because of the gag. Instead, he just screamed, his sore, dry throat burning as he did so. He screamed again, then wiped his tears away. He heard the door being to unlock and open, and ice-cold fear shot through him.

When the door was completely open, it hid Matthew behind it. He saw a shadow cast down on the floor, which paused for only a moment before the figure ran in, all the way to the back wall, until it turned around.

Lovino.

Lovino's eyes landed on him, then he ran over, immediately ungagging him. "Matthew, its me, Lovino." He said worriedly.

"I know." Matthew breathed, relieved to see the Italian.

A police officer walked in hurriedly, but remained calm. The man kneeled down beside Matthew, asking, "Do you know this man?" He nodded toward Lovino.

Matthew shyly stared at the officer, but knew he had to answer, so he gave as much information as possible. "Yes, sir, I know him. His name is Lovino. He was in here before I was."

"And what is your name?" The officer questioned kindly.

Matthew paused again. "My name is Matthew Kirkland, Officer."

"You don't need to call me officer. You can call me Carson."

"Okay, Carson." Matthew muttered slowly. He uncomfortably adjusted the position of his legs, which were still shackled to the wall.

"I mean no disrespect," Lovino began bitterly, "but could you unshackle him, please?"

Carson gave a simple nod. "Of course, I apologise, Matthew."

Matthew smiled sweetly. "It's okay, Carson."

The officer unshackled his feet, then unhandcuffed him. Matthew rubbed his left wrist, feeling relief from the pain in his hand. He began rubbing his right ankle with his right hand. "Where did you get a key?"

"I found it out there." Carson replied.

Matthew nodded, sitting up, and pushing himself to his feet. His knees ached when he was standing fully upright, and his nose began throbbing. "Ow." He muttered.

After only a heartbeat, Lovino exclaimed, "What's wrong?"

Matthew stared up at the Italian for a moment, realizing that he sounded like his father. Even when Lovino was still in the chamber with him, Daddy was always trying to figure out a way to help, even when he actually couldn't. Matthew blinked. "My knees hurt."

Lovino began to play with his hair, probably trying to make it neater than it was. ""Probably because you haven't moved them for… How long were you in here by yourself?"

Matthew began to stride out the door, following Carson, walking even with Lovino. "Since they left with you."

Lovino stopped, causing Matthew to stop as well. "Where are Ludwig and your father?"

Matthew dropped his stare to the floor. He didn't want to tell Lovino the truth, not right now. Maybe he would tell him later, or not at all. "I don't know."

The officer suddenly turned around and walked over, causing Matthew to take a fearful step back, before he realized that Carson wouldn't hurt him. He stared up at the cop, waiting for whatever he was going to say. Carson kneeled down to Matthew's level. "What happened?"

Matthew didn't know what to say. He turned and looked to chamber, where he still saw dried blood from the men his father killed. Should he include that? He looked back to the officer, deciding that he wasn't going to mention it. "After Lovino left, they took me out of the room and they hurt me. The scarred man brought me back and put a gun to my head." His eyes widened in fear, "Daddy attacked the scarred man, and so did Ludwig." He paused, purposely leaving out the part with Daddy killing two men, "The man said he was going to give me a quick and painless death, but then they attacked him, so I was going to die from de-hy-dra-tion." Matthew looked up at Lovino. "What is dehydration?"

"When you die from not drinking water." Lovino answered.

Matthew looked down to his hand, rubbing it gently. His stomach growled again, and he clutched it with his right hand. "Ow." He whimpered.

"By any chance, do you have any food with you?" Lovino asked Carson.

Carson shook his head. "No, but I do have some water," He paused, turning to Matthew, "would you like some water?"

Matthew swallowed hard, his dry throat and mouth burning. It's been so long since he's had water, he'd love water. "Yes, please, Carson, sir!"

"Come on, then." Carson replied, standing and walking away.

Tears began to stain Matthew's eyes again as he stood in the doorway. He dropped his head, crying.

"What's wrong?" Lovino asked worriedly.

Matthew shook his head. He wasn't exactly sure why he was crying this time. His first guess would be out of happiness and relief, he _was_ saved, just as Daddy promised. But, he was also crying because his father wasn't saved too. He wiped his tears away and continued walking, following Carson. He glanced to his right, where Lovino was walking parallel with him. Matthew raised his right hand, took ahold of Lovino's, who gave a surprised glance, but didn't argue. Matthew, right before he turned the corner, out of sight of that cement room, glanced behind him, and saw the stain of blood in the hall that probably belonged to Daddy. He turned back forward.

They walked out the main door to the warehouse, the bright sunlight burning his eyes. Matthew squinted, trying to shield them. He walked on the gravel uncomfortably, but went straight to the ambulance. They climbed in the ambulance, and buckled in. He was given a bottle of water, that he drank quickly.

Matthew began to cry again, but before Lovino could ask what was wrong, he turned and hugged the Italian tightly, taking him by surprise. It hurt his hand to hug Lovino so tightly, but he didn't care. "Thank you, Lovino," He cried, "thank you."

After a moment of hesitation, Lovino pat Matthew's back. "You're welcome, Kid."

Matthew hugged him harder. "Thank you, Lovino. You saved my life."

Lovino didn't answer for a long moment, but he leaned down, and hugged him tighter. "You're welcome Matthew."

After hugging Lovino for a few moments, and calming down, a paramedic walked over and kneeled down in front of him. "What's your name?"

Matthew stared at the paramedic, realizing what was going on. Papa and Daddy taught him what to do in case of emergencies, like talking to the police or doctors, and this was no different. They were going to ask him a series of questions, trying to gain information on who he is, and what's wrong. "I'm Matthew Phillip Kirkland."

"What's your parents names?"

"My Daddy is missing," He began, "but my Papa's name is Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland."

"Do you know his phone number?"

Matthew hummed in thought. "Five-seven-three, seven-six-eight, nine-one-two-four."

"What's your address?"

"Twenty-six, seventy-four, Oak Ridge Drive." Matthew replied without much thought. "Oh, and if my papa doesn't answer his phone, his emergency contact is my uncle, Alistair Kirkland. His phone number is six-three-six, four-eight-five, one-three-four-seven. I remember learning his address, but I can't remember it."

The paramedic was looking down at the small notebook in his hand, where he was writing down all the information Matthew had given. He glanced up at Matthew when he was finished. "Thank you, Matthew," He paused and stood, patting him on the shoulder, "you're going to be just fine. When we get to the hospital we'll call your father, and you'll see him again."

Matthew smiled. "You're welcome, and thank you."

"No problem." The paramedic replied.

Matthew looked down to the floor, a small smile on his face. _I'm going to see Papa again,_ He thought, _I'm going to see Al again._ Although their family would forever be incomplete without Daddy, he couldn't wait to see them again, even if he was baring terrible news.

.

Francis stared at Alfred as he sat at the computer, doing his online work. He would say that there was something off about his son, but there actually was not. Alfred was fine, perfectly fine. He was acting just as he was four and a half days ago, before Matthew's disappearance. Alfred was bouncing in the chair, kicking his feet back and forth as he hummed.

Either Alfred found a new way of coping, or he's reestablished his love for learning. Francis smiled. Although he was taking longer to learn to cope, Alfred was going to be alright. Just fine. But it still didn't help his paranoia. Was Alfred just faking it for his sake? It was a sweet gesture, but shouldn't make his son be the strong one. Alfred should be able to break down and cry whenever he wants, he should be able to be depressed, and Francis should support him, and stay strong for him, even if he's crying as well.

"Alfred." Francis called, concern filling his voice.

Alfred looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, Papa?"

Francis walked over, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. "Are you alright?"

Alfred blinked at him. "Yeah, I'm fine." He paused, "Why?"

"I'm just wondering," Francis began, "you seem better than you were the other day."

"I am." Alfred stated firmly, "Mattie's okay, so I'm okay."

Francis swallowed hard, growing slightly nervous. If he was completely honest with himself, Alfred saying things like that made him feel uneasy, even if it was good news, like Matthew being alright. It was creepy to him.

Nevertheless, Francis smiled at his son. "I'm glad you're better."

Alfred mirrored the smile, then turned back to the computer, continuing his simple work. Francis stood and walked away, patting Alfred on the shoulder as he did. He walked back into the kitchen, getting himself more coffee, after yet another unsatisfying night of sleep. He was unsure what to do, he would have to go to work soon, and he wondered if he should call Alistair, and tell him to expect Alfred to be in a good mood.

Or maybe he should call Laura. It's been a long time since he's talked with her, and she's probably worrying. In fact, ever since Matthew's disappearance, she hasn't be allowed to babysit Alfred. It was nothing against her, it was just his own paranoia. _Yes,_ he thought to himself, _I'll call Laura._

He sat up from his leaning position on the counter, and began to walk to his phone, which was on the dining room table, but the landline began to ring. Francis stared at it for a moment, before walking over. He read the ID on the small screen. It was the Police Department.

Francis' heart began to race. He had no idea what to expect. Did they find Matthew? Arthur? Or were they found dead? Did they find the kidnappers, but not Arthur or Matthew? Or are they calling to inform him that they _still_ have no leads, and that Francis should start making arrangements?

Francis glanced back at Alfred, who didn't seem to notice the phone ringing. " _Mattie's okay, so I'm okay."_ Alfred's innocent statement repeated in his head. He tore his eyes away from Alfred and back to the phone, picking it up, and walking onto the back porch, pressing the "talk" button, and raising it to his ear.

"Hello?" Francis asked cautiously.

"Hello, is this Francis Kirkland?"

Francis nodded. "Yes, sir."

"This is the Wisconsin Police Department," The man paused, "This is Officer Walter Orson, this is in regards of your son, Matthew Philip Kirkland."

Francis held his breath. "Okay, what do you have?"

"We found him."

Those three words were so simple, but put together, it was the best sentence ever spoken. Francis felt like he was going to faint out of relief, so he slid down onto the deck. "You did?" He managed to say, "Where is he?"

"He's in a hospital in Colorado—"

"Hospital!" Francis interrupted, "Is he alright?"

"Of what I've been informed, he has minor injuries. He's in White Petal Hospital, Colorado Springs, Colorado."

"Thank you!" Francis exclaimed, "Thank you so much! I'll get there, I'm leaving right now!" He threw open the sliding back door, and strode in.

The officer paused, "Okay, Mr. Kirkland, that's all I have for you."

Francis stopped in his tracks. "What about Arthur Kirkland?"

The officer was silent for a moment. "There has been no news on him."

Francis deflated slightly, but it was hard to be overly disappointed, Matthew was back. Matthew was alive, and not very hurt. Just as Alfred said, Matthew was okay. "Alright, thank you, goodbye."

"Bye." The officer hung up.

Francis turned and placed to phone in the receiver. He walked into his room, and after he called his work and told them the news, they managed to give him the day off. He got on his laptop and searched up directions to White Petal Hospital, which was roughly sixteen hours away. He made a pot of coffee and put it in two small thermoses.

"Alfred!" Francis called.

"Yeah?"

"Get ready, wear something comfortable." Francis ordered.

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked.

Francis opened his mouth to tell Alfred the good news, then decided he would tell Alfred in the car, he would get ready faster if he wasn't asking many questions. "It's a surprise," Francis began, "I'll tell you in the car."

"Okay!" Alfred exclaimed, excitement in his voice. He ran to his room, and closed his door harder than usual.

Francis laughed. He pulled out his phone to call Alistair, who was supposed to be here in an hour to babysit. He gave his in-law the news and told him to try and get more sleep today, after talking him into staying. Alfred came running from his room, only one tennis shoe on.

Francis chuckled, walking over. "Let me help you." He said, bending down and putting the other shoe on Alfred's foot.

"I'm ready, let's go!" Alfred ran to the front door.

"One moment," Francis began, walking to the hallway closet to grab a blanket and a pillow for his son, it would be a sixteen hour trip, Alfred would probably fall asleep. He pulled out the pillow and blanket he'd been using the past few nights, giving a glance to the black bag full of family videos, then closed the door, and walked back over to the front door, where Alfred was waiting impatiently, holding onto the handle of the door.

"I brought a pillow and a blanket for you, if you want to sleep." Francis said, walking out the front door, and turning and locking it.

Alfred bolted past him, running to the car and waiting by the back passenger door, and holding onto the handle again. Francis chuckled as he walked down the cement stairs, and unlocked the car. He made sure Alfred buckled in, then tossed the pillow and blanket on the back seat next to him. Francis turned the car on, and pulled out of the driveway.

"How long is this going to be?" Alfred asked, "The only times we bring a pillow and blanket in the car is when we're on a road trip."

"We're going to drive sixteen hours." Francis said, not wanting to lie to him.

"Sixteen hours!" Alfred exclaimed, "This better be a pretty good surprise— Oh! You said you'd tell me where we going when we got in the car, we're in the car so where are we going?"

Francis paused for a moment. "We're going to a hospital in Colorado—"

"Hospitals aren't fun." Alfred huffed.

"You didn't let me tell you why we're going."

Francis glanced up to the rearview mirror, where he would see Alfred staring up at him. "Why are we going?" His son asked.

"The police called me," Francis began, "they found Matthew. He's in the hospital."

"They found Mattie?" Alfred shouted, "When? Why is he so far? How long ago?"

Francis smiled. "I don't know when, but I'm guessing the people who took him drove him to Colorado."

"Is he okay?"

Francis glanced down to the directions he wrote for himself. "The police said he has minor injuries, but nothing too serious."

Alfred was silent for a moment. "I'm going to see him again?"

"Yes, _cher_ , you're going to see him again."

"I can't wait!" The boy exclaimed.

Francis smiled again, glad so see such happiness and hope in Alfred. He made a right turn onto the highway, headed for Colorado.

.

When Matthew arrived at the hospital, he was sent to the emergency room, where the doctors took an x-ray of his hand and nose. They put his hand in a cast, then bandaged his nose, telling him that both were broken. They washed him up, bandaged all the cuts that were on him, and fed him. After days without food, Matthew ate until his stomach was completely full, then realized his tiredness, and fell asleep, Lovino still in the room, sleeping in the chair to the side of him. Matthew didn't want to be alone, and he knew he could trust the Italian, even though he hasn't known him very long.

Lovino was still asleep when Matthew woke. He considered waking him, but decided against it, guessing that Lovino probably hasn't gotten much sleep. Instead of waking him, Matthew shifted in his bed, trying to get in a more comfortable position. His hand was beginning to hurt more than earlier, so the medicine the nurse gave him must be wearing off. He stared at his red cast for a moment. _When I go back to school, the whole class is going to sign this_ , Matthew told himself, trying to make the best of the situation.

There was a knock at the door, and with Matthew being as shy as he is, he didn't know what to do. Lovino was still asleep, and he was still pretty tired. He bit his lip before shyly saying, "Come in," although it probably wasn't loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

The door opened anyway, showing the best sight Matthew has seen since Lovino saved him. Papa.

" _Oh Mon Dieu!_ " Papa yelled, running across the room, and wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Mattie!" Alfred shouted, the sound of his twin's voice like music to his ears. Alfred climbed up on his hospital bed, and hugging him as well.

"Papa! Al!" Matthew exclaimed, tears rolling down his face. Although his casted hand, he still hugged Papa, and let Alfred crush him in a tight embrace.

Papa pulled away and cradled Matthew's cheeks, staring him in the eye with his tear-filled blue eyes. " _Mon_ Matthew," He whispered, " _Dieu merci_ , I have you back."

Matthew blinked away tears, unsure how to reply. He settled with, "I missed you, Papa!"

"I missed you, Mattie!" Alfred yelled, still hugging him tightly.

Matthew sniffled. "I missed you Al!"

Alfred pulled away. "What happened, you're hurt!"

Matthew didn't really want to think about it, but he knew he should tell Alfred anyway. "They broke my hand and nose," He began, "they also gave me some cuts and bruises."

Anger filled his brother's eyes. "How dare they hurt my brother." Alfred said in a challenging tone.

Matthew only smiled at his brother. He turned his attention to Papa, who was now talking with Lovino. Oddly, though, the two were standing pretty close to one another, speaking quietly.

"Who is that guy?" Alfred asked cautiously.

"That's Lovino," Matthew began, looking back to his brother, "he was kidnapped too. They men took him away, but he came back for me. I'm only alive because of him."

"He saved you?" Alfred exclaimed quietly.

Matthew nodded.

"I'll be right back." Alfred said, sliding off of the hospital bed, and running over to Lovino, hugging him. "Thank you!" He yelled.

Matthew noticed that Lovino, again, looked uncomfortable. He hesitated for a moment, before awkwardly patting Alfred's back with a small smile. "You must be Alfred," Lovino began, "Matthew talked about you a little bit. So did your… father…"

"Thank you!" Alfred exclaimed again, "You brought Mattie back!"

"You're welcome." Lovino replied after a moment of hesitation.

Alfred then turned away, ran back to Matthew's bed, climbed on top of it, and hugged him again. Matthew hugged his brother, but this one hurt more than the one earlier, irritating some of the bruises and cuts on his body. "Ow." He whimpered quietly.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry!" Alfred yelled, pulling away from him, "Did I hurt you, I didn't mean to!"

Matthew pulled his twin back into the hug. "It's okay, Al, I'm fine."

.

Francis, while sitting in a chair beside Matthew's bed, had a lot of time to think about what Lovino had said to him. Lovino was no longer in there, and told him that he had to head back home, he had his own troubles to deal with, but ordered Francis to stay in contact.

But, what was so unnerving was what Lovino had told him right before he left. He's being watched. Sure, it sounded like something straight out of a horror movie, but when Francis realized that he and his sons were still not safe, even in a _hospital_ , he grew more paranoid, not even trusting the doctor.

Then there was that other thing Lovino had told him. The somewhat good news that gave him the slimmest feeling of hope. Arthur might be alive. Sure, he was missing for just over a month, but he, against all odds, could be alive. A small smile appeared on his face.

"Papa?" Matthew said, gaining Francis' attention.

Francis stared at Matthew for a moment, hearing the fear in his son's voice. He leaned forward. "What is it Matthew?"

"There's something I need to tell you."

Francis bit his lip. "What is it?"

Matthew leaned forward even more, causing Alfred to do so as well. "Daddy killed two people."

Francis stared into his son's lavender eyes for a long moment. "Hold on for a second." He said, walking over to the open door, and closing it. When he sat back down in front of Matthew, he realized that the fear that was in his voice had become obvious in his eyes. "Please repeat that." Francis ordered.

Matthew swallowed hard, looking to the floor. "Daddy killed two people."

"How do you know this?" Francis asked, glancing to Alfred who looked dumbfounded.

"He shot them."

"How did he get a gun?" Francis exclaimed quietly, more to himself rather than Matthew.

"They had it to my head, and Daddy took it from them." Matthew muttered.

His son's words echoed in his mind. " _They had it to my head..."_ Matthew really got that close to death? Francis grew nervous, and he palms began to sweat at just the thought of a gun being that close to Matthew, let alone pointed at him. Then he realized something else. If Arthur is ever found, he could get charged with murder. Sure, it was in protection of his son, but could get charged with manslaughter, or something of that sort. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

Matthew shook his head quickly. "No, I didn't know if I was supposed to."

Francis paused before shaking his head. "Don't, if they find out, they find out, but don't tell them. Daddy could get in trouble for it."

Matthew's eyes dropped to the floor. "Yeah…"

Francis stared at Matthew. There was a doubtful tone in his voice, which was slightly unnerving. Sure, Arthur being found was a bit farfetched, but Matthew was found, and Francis had a new found hope for Arthur's survival. Lovino told him he was alive.

"What's wrong?" Francis asked, still staring at his son.

Matthew looked up to him quickly. "What?"

"There's something wrong," Francis stated, "what's wrong?"

Matthew paused, glancing over at Alfred. "Daddy's not here. He's not with us. He should be with us."

"I understand." Francis said, leaning forward and tucking Matthew's bangs behind his ear, discretely doing so to look at the bruises on his face. It made sense. They were obviously incomplete without Arthur, but for some reason, he believed there was something Matthew wasn't telling him. Francis decided that he would talk to Matthew later, and let him enjoy the moment now, reuniting with his brother.

.

It's been a day since Matthew was found, and came back to Francis. They were at home, and Matthew obviously missed it. Francis smiled when he expressed such excitement for his cooking, the boy had mentioned how terrible the food was while in the warehouse.

It was going on midnight, Francis was actually tired, and considered sleeping in his bedroom instead of the couch. Considering how his back was hurting from the couch and the hospital, he could use a night of rest on his bed. But Arthur wouldn't be next to him. _But_ he was able to sleep in there with Alfred when he didn't want to be alone. Was Francis accepting Arthur's death? No, Arthur wasn't dead, there was no proof. So why was he so calm?

Francis decided not to let the question bother him too much, and head to bed after he finished this segment of the news. He heard a door open down the hallway, and Matthew came walking over, but he stopped at the entrance of the hall, putting his left hand on the wall.

"Papa." Matthew said quietly.

Francis guessed that either Matthew's hand or nose was bothering him. It was nearing time for his main medicine, but he was hoping the pain wouldn't wake him. " _Oui,_ Matthew, what's wrong?" He muted the T.V.

"Can I talk to you?"

For some reason, Francis was glad Matthew said that. He still had that question lingering in his head from yesterday, wondering why Matthew sounded so doubtful to Arthur's survival. Francis patted the couch cushion beside him. "Of course you can, come here."

Matthew slowly and cautiously strode over, then sat on the couch next to Francis, who adjusted his position to look at his son. "What's up?" He asked.

Matthew fidgeted in his seat. "Papa, I need to tell you something…"

"Okay, what is it?"

"But I don't want to." Matthew added.

"You can tell me anything." Francis replied.

"I know, I know," Matthew paused, "I just don't want to."

"If it's bothering you, tell me." Francis put his hand on Matthew's back.

"Remember when you said that Daddy could get in a lot of trouble for killing those people?" Matthew asked sheepishly.

"Did you tell someone?" Francis questioned calmly, "It's fine if you did, he might get in trouble but you didn't know."

"No, I didn't tell anyone." Matthew muttered, "But he can't get in trouble for it."

"What do you mean?"

Tears appeared in Matthew's lavender eyes, and he curled up slightly and began to cry.

Francis leaned forward and picked Matthew up and held him close. "You don't need to cry, Matthew, what's wrong?"

"Daddy's dead!" Matthew exclaimed quietly.

Francis froze. "What?"

Matthew buried his face in Francis' shirt. "Daddy's dead."

Francis, somehow, didn't cry. He just numbly stared forward. "But, Lovino said Arthur was alive." He denied desperately.

"Lovino left before I did, he didn't know!"

Francis hugged Matthew tightly, rubbing his back, but didn't cry. He felt numb, shattered. "Don't tell Alfred." He whispered.

"What?" Matthew exclaimed, looking up to him.

"I'll figure out how to tell him, until I do, don't talk to him about it." Francis paused, "Unless you already have?"

Matthew shook his head quickly. "No, I don't know how to tell him something like that."

" _Moi non plus_ …" Francis whispered.

"I'm sorry, Papa." Matthew apologized.

"For what?" Francis exclaimed, "This—"

Matthew didn't let him finish. "I didn't want to tell you, but you've been searching for answers for so long, I had to."

Francis held his son closer. "Matthew, thank you for telling me. Don't feel sorry for being a bearer of bad news, everyone has to at some point in their lives. It was very strong of you to tell me."

Matthew sniffled, but didn't reply, and neither did Francis. He had nothing else to say, but he did have one question in his mind. How did Matthew know?

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _ **Oh mon Dieu- (French) Oh my God**_

 _ **Oui- (French) yes**_

 _ **Moi non plus- (French) Me neither**_

 **("Carson" is an OC, by the way)**

 **I'm sorry!**

 **I said that for many reasons, first, I'm sorry it took so long to update, and also, sorry for the emotions of the chapter. I've been looking forward to this part of the story, and I thank everyone who's beared with me and all my writer's block and inactivity for so long.**

 **And everyone, I got some big news! Anyone who is following/favoriting my fanfiction** _ **Healing**_ **(a post WW2 AU), will be updating soon! By soon, I mean it'll take a while, but I won't move on with any of my other fics until I get over this writer's block, I'm almost there!**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


	17. Somewhere Else

Chapter 17

Somewhere Else

There was a lot of blood, and even more pain. Dizziness was strong, but nausea was stronger. Luckily, he didn't have enough food in his system to throw up.

"Arthur, are you awake?" Ludwig's voice sounded muffled in Arthur's ringing ears.

He groaned and shook his head.

"Arthur, you need to eat."

Arthur opened his eyes, then scanned the dark room, surprised where he was. He's been here a few days, but every day he forgets that he's there. In a storm shelter beneath an old barn. Only him and Ludwig now. No Lovino. No Matthew. Arthur bit his lip, trying to hold back tears at just the thought of his dead son.

"Arthur, are you even hearing me?"

"Yes." He choked out weakly, his voice sounding more hoarse than he imagined it would.

"You need to eat." Ludwig repeated.

Arthur stayed completely still, trying to gain motivation to sit up. He adjusted his right leg, and turned onto his back, putting his hands beneath him, and trying to push himself into a sitting position. He bent his left leg only slightly, and called out in pain, falling back down.

" _Verdammt!_ " Ludwig cursed, "Are you alright?"

Arthur ignored the stupid question, and began to inspect his wrapped up leg. He felt the skin around his left calf, near the shot wound. He unwrapped it a little, looking at the skin.

"What are you doing?"

"Fuck!" Arthur yelled, straining his voice, and eventually coughing. He started to redress the wound.

"What?" Ludwig exclaimed.

"It's infected." Arthur growled, lying back down.

Ludwig was quiet for a long moment, "You need to eat."

"How many times are you going to say that?"

"Just eat, Arthur!"

Arthur turned his head to the blond, "Why? Why does it matter that I eat?"

Ludwig gave a concerned stare, blinking slowly, and not replying for a long moment. He looked to the ground, clearing his throat, "Arthur, you still have Alfred and Francis."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, "That's not what they tell me." He turned his head away from Ludwig, trying to blink away the tears, "They tell me they're dead, just like Matthew."

"They could be lying." Ludwig attempted to reassure.

Arthur scoffed, closing his eyes, "You're right," he agreed sarcastically, "they _could_ be lying," He looked back to Ludwig, "but it's not like they've ever proven to me that they have mercy. Why would they, all of a sudden, leave them alone? They killed Matthew, and they shot me in the leg, just so they can take their time killing me. Don't sit there and tell me that Alfred and Francis have a chance… Because they don't." Arthur heard himself wince a little as those last words exited his mouth. But he had to be truthful with himself.

Ludwig was looking at the floor, seemingly unsure how to respond. He held a plastic plate in his hands, scraps of food resting on top. The German let out a long sigh, closing his eyes, "Arthur… you need to eat."

Arthur glared at Ludwig, "No I don't. Starvation would be better than being beaten to death," He looked down to his leg, "so would the infection."

"No." Ludwig said sternly, "You're going to eat this, understand?"

Arthur glanced back to the German, "No I'm not."

"Dammit Arthur, just work with me!" Ludwig exclaimed, "We still have a chance!"

"No, _you_ still have a chance!" Arthur yelled back, coughing hard, "Look at me Ludwig, I'm a dead man! I have an infected shot wound, I'm sick, malnourished, and being beaten daily! I'm surprised I even lasted this long..."

"You'll die if you keep thinking like that. You're willful, Arthur, I've seen it." Ludwig sounded desperate.

"Yes," Arthur agreed slowly, "but I had Matthew to protect," He paused, "I lost my will long before then."

"I don't believe you."

"Listen to me, Ludwig," Arthur snapped, "they've kidnapped me, malnourished me, beat me, and took _everything_ from me!" He could feel tears rolling down his face, "How much does a man have to go through to be able to just lie down and die?"

Ludwig stared at him, Arthur unable to read his emotions. He looked away with a long sigh. He set the plate on the floor, "Eat if you want." He stood and walked away to lean up against the wall.

Arthur stared at the plate, before looking up to the German.

"If it means anything to you, Arthur," Ludwig began quietly, "I'm scared…" He paused, "and I could use your help."

Arthur blinked and adjusted his stare back to the plate. Without a reply, he reached out a hand, and began to eat the scraps of food on the plate, hoping to God, something he doesn't even believe in, that he wouldn't throw it up later.

.

Arthur coughed hard, tasting a little blood. There was only a second of hesitation before the metal bat came down on his face again, knocking him quite loopy. He laid on the ground panting, anticipating another hit.

"This is getting boring." The scarred man said blandly.

"Well I'm so fucking sorry that I'm not entertaining anymore!" Arthur growled darkly, readjusting himself on the floor to where he was lying on his side.

He was given another strong hit by the bat, right on the ribcage. Twice, "You know that I hate it when you curse, Kirkland."

Arthur rolled back onto his stomach, realizing it was a bad idea to lie on his side, "And yet you haven't cut my tongue out like you threatened you would."

"Don't challenge me, Kirkland." Threatened the scarred man.

"Whatever, jackass." Arthur insulted.

The sound of a gun cocking caught Arthur's attention. He looked over his shoulder, staring down the barrel of the gun. He narrowed his eyes, "Go ahead."

The scarred man's finger moved from the trigger, "No, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Arthur dropped his head back to the floor, disappointed. He actually thought that his pain would be over. "You don't have the guts." He teased.

"If I didn't have the guts to shoot you, Art, then explain to me how I was easily able to slaughter your husband and remaining son."

In a flurry of anger, Arthur pushed himself up, almost like he was going to attack the man. The shackles, that were attached to the ground, stopped his movement. He pulled against the shackles, as if they would break.

"Wow, it's been awhile since I've seen so much anger in you. It's almost like you were going to fight back." The man chuckled.

"Fuck you." Arthur cursed, before he was pushed back down to the ground.

"Get 'em outta here, he's boring. Maybe he'll be more entertaining tomorrow."

As the other men were dragging him away, Arthur, for some reason, was fighting back. It wasn't because he wanted to stay, or run, but it was out of blind rage. His efforts were futile though, and he quickly realized that. "You'll pay for all off this." Arthur growled, "You'll pay somehow."

The man laughed and turned away, "Maybe, but not in your lifetime, I can promise you that."

.

 _Two Days Later_

Arthur panted as he laid on the floor. The beatings had become more relentless. He didn't have the energy to even sit up, or raise his voice above a whisper. When he came back to the storm shelter from his most recent beating, Ludwig informed him that he was gone for hours.

The door to the shelter opened, and Arthur glared over at it. A tray of food was set on the floor, and the door was closed again. Over in Ludwig's direction, he heard the sound of fabric being torn. Over the past few days, the captors had apparently stopped caring if Arthur bled out, so Ludwig had been making makeshift bandages from his clothes. He saw Ludwig tear his entire left sleeve off his shirt, and begin to wrap the open wound of Arthur's ribcage.

"Stop," Arthur grunted, "that hurts."

He felt the cloth tighten more, "I'm sorry, Arthur," Ludwig apologized, "but I need to stop the bleeding."

"This isn't necessary…" Arthur whispered.

Ludwig halted, staring down at him, "What do you mean by that?"

"You don't," Arthur paused to take a few breaths, "have to do this."

"You're right," Ludwig agreed in a protective tone, "but it's necessary for your survival."

Arthur picked his head up a little, "Do you really think… you can save me?" He panted.

Ludwig didn't reply, he just stood and walked across the room to retrieve the food that was left on the floor. He walked back and squatted down next to Arthur.

However, Arthur was stubborn, and wouldn't have his question be ignored. He narrowed his eyebrows a little, "Well?" He prompted.

"Well, what?" Ludwig asked, obviously pretending not to know what he was talking about.

Arthur just closed his eyes, deciding he didn't care, "Never mind."

Ludwig started tearing apart the sandwich that was given to them by their captors. To Arthur's annoyance, the German said that one statement again, "Arthur, you need to eat."

He wasn't in the mood for arguing right now, nor was he in the mood for being guilt-tripped into eating said food by Ludwig, so he decided to comply. Arthur reached out a shaky hand, "Here."

Ludwig set the pieces of sandwich on his hand without a word. "Thank you," Arthur said, his thanks sounding very empty, but he didn't really care. He began to slowly eat the sketchy food, trying to keep his mind off his upset stomach and fever.

"You're welcome, Arthur," Ludwig began, "I just wish I could do more."

"You're…" Arthur paused to catch his breath, "you're doing more than enough."

Ludwig gave a kind look, sipping from one of the cups of water and Arthur went back to his eating. His stomach was getting more upset, and he began to grow angry. Out off all the things that were currently wrong with him, why did nausea have to be a factor? He hated throwing up almost every meal, but, then again, this way he was starving. Better than being beaten to death.

As the minutes passed, Arthur couldn't help but let his mind wander to the subjects it's always on. His family— or what was left of it. Sure, the scarred man who called himself "Smith" said that he killed Francis and Alfred, but Ludwig could be right, he could be lying. They could be missing, beaten, slowly killed just like he was. Or maybe they were next on the list. Arthur could've been first to die, but because he pissed them off so much, they killed Matthew. _Maybe Francis is next. Or Alfred. Alistair. Patrick. Dylan…_

"Oh, God," Arthur exclaimed, feeling tears fill his eyes, "what am I going to do?"

Ludwig looked over, obviously surprised by the sudden outburst of emotion, "What? What's wrong?"

Even if Francis and Alfred were truly dead, that wouldn't mean the pain would stop, "They're going to kill them!" Arthur sobbed, "All of them!" He paused, noticing that Ludwig seemed unsure how to respond, "They already killed Matthew! He's only seven!"

"No! You don't know that! Lovino could be alive, he probably lead police to where Matthew is, Matthew is probably safe." Ludwig attempted at reassurance.

"They probably killed Lovino like they killed Peter." Arthur grumbled.

Ludwig stared at him for a long moment, his pale blue eyes looking down at him uneasily. Arthur turned away from the German, not wanting to hear any more false hope that he was probably going to give.

The doors to the storm shelter opened.

Arthur froze, holding his breath. He wasn't sure why, it was instinct by now. He remembered the plan Ludwig and him came up with a little while ago. Pretend to be unconscious, maybe the man will go away.

"Beilschmidt, get out of the way." It was a simple six-word order that gave away that Ludwig had stood up, and gotten between him and Arthur. It was an order that Arthur knew Ludwig wasn't going to listen to.

"He's unconscious." Ludwig lied.

"Really, then were you talking to yourself or the wall just a minute ago?"

"I talk to myself a lot." A bitterness filled Ludwig's voice.

 _Don't get yourself hurt for me,_ Arthur thought, his eyes closed tightly, _please don't get hurt just for me._

"Really? Then why was Arthur screaming about the family I've already killed?"

Arthur felt himself choke on tears. He fought hard against it, but it still gave away that he was truly awake. He didn't dread it though, maybe they would kill him this time.

"Get out of the way, and let me get Arthur."

"No." Ludwig hissed.

Arthur rolled over to observe what was happening. He begged that Ludwig was going to back down.

"This isn't a negotiation," The scarred man said threateningly, "get out of my way, and let me get Arthur."

Arthur saw Ludwig take a challenging step forward, "Not while I'm still conscious!" He yelled.

 _Dammit, Ludwig!_ Arthur cursed to himself.

The man took a step closer to Ludwig, adjusting his rifle in his hands. "I can arrange that."

As the scarred man lunged forward, Ludwig stepped back, trying to dodge the swing of the man's rifle, which was aimed head-high. However, Ludwig was unsuccessful, and was hit in the jaw with the butt-end of the rifle. He hit the ground, falling unconscious quickly.

As the scarred man and two of his lackeys walked past Ludwig and over to Arthur, he backed up, trying to gain distance. Of course, his back hit the wall, and he let out a loud grunt. He didn't even run into it that hard, but it hurt that bad. Arthur bit his lip, staring at the man.

"I suggest saying goodbye to your German friend." He laughed.

 _They're going to actually kill me this time?_ Arthur thought. He was a bit relieved, finally his pain would be over. But there was that voice in his head. That one that he's been ignoring for a while now. That instinct to try and get away. That voice was screaming at him, telling him to try it one last time. To get away, or to die trying. To get to his family, and make sure they're safe. That father instinct, telling him to never give up until he is sure that his family was alive.

They were outside now, dragging him back towards the barn. Or were they going to take him to the field and shoot him like a sick dog? Fear shot through his veins. Adrenaline quickly replaced it. If he could get away…

All of a sudden, Arthur came into impact with the ground. There was a moment of confusion, before he remembered he managed to break free, but the old shot wound quickly incapacitated him. Running wasn't an option, not this time.

"Get up." The scarred man ordered.

"Fuck you!" Arthur exclaimed.

The rifle was pointed at him. A good thing about rifles was that they were bigger than a handgun. Arthur could reach it from the ground. He took the barrel, and pushed it out of his face. He pulled on it, trying to gain the advantage. One of the lackeys got Arthur in a headlock, and pulled him to his feet.

"Just when I thought you've given up!" The man with the scar growled, hitting him in the stomach with the rifle. He would've doubled over if it he wasn't being held up by one of the other men.

Without a word from anyone else, Arthur was drug into the barn, where he was promptly shackled to the ground. And beaten, and beaten, and after long enough, Arthur was beaten into unconsciousness. And when he woke, he was beaten unconscious again. And again. And again. And until he couldn't even stay conscious long enough for them to beat him. His life became a blur, just segments of memory.

" _It's boring if you can't stay awake..."_

 _...At some point, he was being drug by his ankles to… somewhere. His face hurt from the ground, or maybe it was because of the punches. Or both...?_

 _...It was dark. Cold. Compact. He couldn't even tell if he was conscious. Arthur held a hand up, and could kind of see its silhouette. He didn't know where he was, and he was scared. Terrified. "Ludwig?" His voice came out hoarse, and broken…_

 _...Still dark. It seemed like wherever he was had gotten smaller. Like it was closing in on him. Suffocating him. "Ludwig!" He cried desperately, begging for help from the only person he knew would help him..._

 _...The pain was completely gone. The only thing was the cold. He was shivering, but also sweating..._

 _...He liked the darkness. It was welcoming. The sun was always too bright, it hurt his eyes. This way his eyes wouldn't hurt. He'd be comfortable in his last moments..._

 _...One upside: The beatings were over. He would hear the occasional mumbling. There was also a car's engine. The sound of an argument. Or maybe he was hearing things…_

 _...Then, there was an annoying sound. It was loud, and hurt his ears. It woke him up from a peaceful slumber. Or was it unconsciousness? He could never tell. The sound got louder. He tried to put a name to it, it was on the tip of his tongue. What was it called… Fireworks, he finally thought. No, firecrackers. That's what they were. Firecrackers. But why would they be setting off firecrackers...?_

" _...We need a paramedic over here, now!"_

" _Sir! What's your name?"_

" _What. Is. Your. Name?"_

" _Stay awake, stay awake!"_

" _What's your name?"_

" _He's very unstable! We need to get… a… life fli…"_

 _...A different annoying sound filled his ears. It was even more repetitive than the other. It was lower-toned, and loud in a different kind of way than the other. Where was he? Why was it windy?_

" _Ludwig?" He choked out._

" _He's awake!"_

 _He turned his head, seeing only dark figures. Fear rose in his chest, "Ludwig?" He begged it was him._

" _Sir, can you hear me?"_

 _He nodded slightly._

" _What is your name?"_

" _I don't…"_

Everything went completely black.

.

 _Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Francis let out a loud groan to the sound of his phone going off, " _Merde, je dormais cette fois!_ " He exclaimed quietly.

He sat up, and picked up the phone, not giving a glance to the Caller ID. He stood from his bed, and exited his room, hoping he didn't disturb the boys, who were asleep in the bed with him, "Hello?" Francis asked, noting that his accent sounded very thick.

"Hello, is this Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland?"

Francis' paranoia took over, "Who is this?"

"This is the Wisconsin Police Department, I am Officer Paul Bates, is Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland speaking?"

Francis was completely frozen. He didn't know what to say. There should be no reason that this police officer would be calling. Matthew was found, and Arthur, according to Matthew, was dead. Maybe they found his body? "Yes, what is this about?"

"This is in regards of your missing spouse, Arthur Kirkland."

Francis held his breath, "What about him?"

He could've sworn that Officer Bates had paused for dramatic effect, or maybe time had slowed down, or stopped altogether. It didn't matter why, but it just took forever for Bates to begin speaking again, "Arthur Kirkland was found alive last night at eleven twenty-two."

"Alive?" Francis breathed slowly, his knees growing weak, and falling down. He caught himself on the wall, and slid down it slowly. He felt dizzy, out of breath, nauseous.

"Yes, sir, he was found alive."

"Where is he?" Francis blurt out loudly.

"White Petal Hospital, Colorado Springs, Colorado."

Francis felt like he could run there, but also felt like he was going to throw up and pass out. Tears streamed down his face. Arthur was alive. After a month and a half, his _cher_ was still alive. Still fighting, "Thank you," Francis noticed that his voice sounded near silent.

"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Kirkland."

No matter how joyous this moment was, Francis had one, terrifying question to ask, "What's his condition?"

"Of what I've been told," Officer Bates said, before pausing for what felt like hours, "he's in critical condition."

"Critical!" Francis exclaimed, "That can't be right! Please say that you misread, or misspoke, or something!"

"No, Mr. Kirkland, I did not misspeak."

Amazing news, followed by heart shattering news. _Non,_ He thought, _it's not heart shattering because Arthur is going to be fine. Arthur's alive, and he will stay that way. He's going to be fine._ "Thank you, Officer."

"You're welcome, Mr. Kirkland."

"Goodbye." Francis said slowly.

"Goodnight."

The other end of the phone went silent for a moment, then the loud hum filled his ears. Francis dropped the phone on the floor next to him, crying harder. Arthur was alive. After all this time, all this doubt and mourning, he was alive. The love of his life was alive.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 _ **Verdammt- (German) Damn it**_

 _ **Merde, je dormais cette fois- (French) Shit/Damn it, I was (actually) sleeping this time**_

 _ **Cher- (French) Dear/love**_

 _ **Non- (French) No**_

 **So, I didn't really notice until I reread it, but there's more swearing in this chapter than usual, so if you're not big on that kind of thing, I'm sorry. Anyway, things are finally looking up, am I right?**

 **I hope I tricked you, and got you guys good.**

 **Sorry it took so long to update, this story never takes this long, just I had to rework this chapter a few times, it came out choppy at first, so yeah. Also I was sick, and finals, and I really didn't want to tear your guys' hearts out on/right before the Holidays, that just seemed a bit mean. So yeah, that's it.**

 **See y'all next time (lol I shouldn't say "y'all" should I?)**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**

 **P.S.: Happy (late) Christmas and Merry Holidays! - I like to mix it up XD**


	18. Together

Chapter 18

Together

Distant, muffled chatter was the first thing Arthur heard. Then a high-pitched, rhythmic beeping. Once he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a dark room, his sight too blurred to make anything out. Where had they taken him this time?

In front of him was an open doorway, the contrast of light near blinding. Arthur squinted at the bright hallway on the other side of the door, trying to make out some kind of shape or figure, but alas, he could not. Turning his head to the right, he saw the blurred figures of a couple of empty chairs. To his left, a few machines, which was also the source of the beeping sound. Arthur picked his head up a little, but he was too weak to hold it for too long. As he started to move around, he could feel something tug at his left hand. Raising his hand, he started inspecting it to see a few wires, or tubes coming from his wrist. Were they injecting something into him?

He put his right hand to his face, trying to rub the pounding bruises, but his hand came into contact with something else. It felt plastic, covered his nose and mouth, and was blowing air onto his face. He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know what to make of any of it. It all seemed so different, so… safe?

Arthur heard footsteps, and after turning his head to the doorway, he saw someone enter through it. It was a blurred silhouette that, as it walked closer, became a little clearer. The figure was male, had brown hair, was wearing a blue shirt and pants, and a white coat. Arthur began to wonder what kind of trouble this man would bring into his life.

"Kirkland!" The man greeted in a seemingly kind tone, "You're awake, how are you feeling?"

Arthur knew this man. He didn't know how he met him, he didn't know where he met him, he just _knew_ this man. His voice was what definitely gave it away. It was slightly accented and cheerful, and… nice? He ignored the man's question, and attempted a question of his own, "Where…?"

The man stepped a bit closer, "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

Arthur cleared his throat, "Where… a-am I?"

"You're in the hospital, in the ICU." The man replied in a soothing, but worried tone, "I am your doctor, Dr. Carriedo."

"A… a hospital?" Arthur breathed in disbelief. He couldn't be in the hospital, he had no chance of getting rescued. He was a dead man, right?

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland," Dr. Carriedo replied, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder, "you're safe and in the hospital."

 _Safe?_ Arthur thought. After all the lies, and pain, and malnourishment, and torture, he was safe? Relief flooded over him. He sunk down in his bed a little, and pulled the blankets up more. He felt his eyes go watery, and a few tears slip out of them. He was safe. At last, after so much fighting, and eventually just giving up, he was safe… But could he really rejoice?

All the victims before him were dead. Lovino, definitely dead. Ludwig, probably dead. Matthew… Arthur put his right hand over his eyes to hide his tears from the doctor. He didn't want to think of the death of his son. _Those bastards_ , he thought, _those bastards killed my son._

"Kirkland, are you—"

"Doctor," Arthur interrupted weakly, "did… did any of the men… survive?"

Carriedo was silent for a moment, staring down at him, "What are you talking about?"

"The men who had me," Arthur clarified, straining his voice so it would be heard, "did any of them… are they alive?"

"I wasn't given a report on them," Carriedo said, "I can see if anyone knows, though."

Arthur didn't reply, he just closed his eyes to help relieve his headache. He looked back to the doctor, seeing him write a few things down on his clipboard, before eventually turning his attention back to him, "Is there anything else you need before I go, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur thought about it, but decided there was nothing. "No, doctor, thank you." He answered, closing his eyes, and shaking his head only slightly.

Dr. Carriedo paused again to write a last few things down, before turning and exiting the room, saying, "Morning _señor._ "

Arthur saw another figure entering the room, who also had a recognizable, accented voice, "Morning, doctor."

After staring at him for a while and squinting his eyes, he recognized the figure as Lovino. So he was alive. He then noticed that Lovino was staring at something… Checking out Arthur's doctor? "What are you looking at?" He asked with a smile

Lovino turned back to Arthur, a look of surprise on his face, "Arthur, you're awake?"

Arthur shrugged, "For the time being."

Lovino stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly, "So, how are you feeling?" Right after the Italian asked the question, he seemed like he regretted it.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Splendid," he replied sarcastically.

"I'm sorry," Lovino apologised, "I need to stop asking that."

Arthur's smile grew a little, "It's fine, Lovino, trust me," he panted, "You worry about me and you don't know how to… help, so you ask if I am okay, even if it may be clear that… I'm not." He took a few deep breaths, "But, I am feeling pain now, so that's good."

Lovino's face held a confused expression, "How so?"

Arthur stared at the ceiling, blinking a few times, trying to regain some of his blurred sight, "Earlier, I was… well, dying… and I didn't feel much pain. Which meant I was… dying."

"Right," Lovino replied, seemingly unsure what to say next.

Arthur glanced around the room, a feeling of panic growing inside him. Lovino was here, but where was this? He felt like he knew where he was, but didn't anymore. Where the hell was he? Arthur felt a little stupid. He could've sworn he just heard where he was from someone, but couldn't remember who. He rubbed his face with his right hand, feeling the plastic mask over his nose and mouth again. He was embarrassed to ask, but he asked anyway, "Hey, uh, Lovino. Can I ask you something? It's a little embarrassing because I know I've already asked the, uh, the guy that was in here earlier a few times, but I've forgotten."

Lovino shrugged, a look of sympathy on his face, "Sure, what is it?"

Arthur hesitated, deciding if he even wanted to ask, "Where am I?"

"Oh," Lovino trailed off for a moment, giving a few concerned glances, "you're in a hospital."

Arthur smiled again, "Right… I knew that…"

There was an awkward silence between the two, and Arthur closed his eyes, beginning to drift into a light slumber. At least until he heard Lovino say, "You know, Arthur, Francis is on his way here… He shouldn't be too long now."

Arthur turned his head in Lovino's direction, multiple feelings flooding him, "Really?" He almost didn't believe it.

"Yes, Arthur," Lovino smiled, "Francis is headed here."

Arthur couldn't contain his excitement, even though it probably looked like he was. He felt like he was going to cry again, Francis was alive, and he'd finally be reunited with his love. And maybe his sons? Or… well, _son_ , since Alfred is his only remaining one. He wanted to see his boy again. Maybe Lovino could tell him that Alfred was coming too, "Do you know if Alfred is too?"

Lovino rubbed the back of his head, humming in thought, "Uh, I'm guessing that he's bringing Alfred and Matthew."

 _Oh no,_ Arthur thought, feeling his chest tighten a little, _he doesn't know about Matthew._ "Uh, Lovino…" He trailed off for a moment, gaining the strength to say it himself, "Matthew… Matthew is… d-dead."

Lovino gave a look of shock, before shaking his head, a tone of sympathy in his accented voice, "No, Arthur, Matthew's alive."

Arthur held his breath. Matthew's alive? But, he was left in there all alone, alone to die. Did someone actually find him in time? Or were they bluffing? His jaw dropped, finally letting out a few breaths, "What?" His voice was almost inaudible.

"Because they carjacked me," Lovino started to explain, "I knew how to get to the warehouse... I led the police there, hoping to find everyone, and we found Matthew."

Arthur picked up his head, sitting up a little as well, "My son is alive? Is he okay? Is he hurt?" He asked quickly, not a heartbeat passing between each question.

"Matthew is fine. He has three broken fingers, some bruises, and had a broken nose, but I think it's healed by now." Lovino replied to Arthur's relief, giving a kind, reassuring smile as he did so.

Arthur put a hand over his eyes, shedding tears. By some miracle, Matthew was alive, all thanks to Lovino. The police found him in time, and he's finally safe now, "Oh, thank God!" Arthur exclaimed, but he didn't even hear the words. His son, with the exception of a few minor injuries, was alright. Perfectly fine. Arthur turned his head to Lovino, not caring if the Italian saw him cry, "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, Arthur." Lovino shifted in his chair, seemingly uncomfortable with the gratitude.

"So, how are things with your family?" Arthur asked after taking a few minutes to gather himself.

"Ludwig is safe. All he has are some bruises and a mild concussion. Also…" Lovino trailed off.

"Also…?" Arthur prompted, raising one eyebrow.

"Roderich's wife, Elizabeta, was…" Lovino paused, taking a deep breath, and leaning forward in his chair a little. He ran a hand through his dark auburn hair, and closed his eyes, "murdered… she was murdered… by the same guys who took us."

"I'm so sorry," Arthur said quietly, a tone of shock in his voice. He never met this Roderich, or especially his wife, but he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he must be in.

"I didn't know her too well," Lovino began in a sad tone, staring down at the floor, "I only knew her for a year and a half, but it's Roderich that's depressing me… He's not taking it too well. The past week or so, he's pulled himself together so he can get everything fixed with the family, but I'm pretty sure he's going to break down soon."

Arthur wasn't really sure what to say next. It seemed like Lovino needed to vent a little more, but he had stopped. Arthur was quiet to give him the chance to do so, but his mind began to get a little… fuzzy? It was weird, the pain in his body was fading a little, but he didn't feel scared, like he would when he was dying. It was a completely different feeling, and it flooded over him quickly. A smile pulled at his lips as a good idea sparked in his head, "Lovino, are you a good writer?"

Lovino gave a puzzled stare, "Um, I don't-"

"Because I think that story would make a really good book." Arthur interrupted, lifting his index finger up in a matter-of-fact way.

"Really?" Lovnio sounded skeptical, but in a mocking way, "You think so?"

"Yes, you could become the new… Oh, God, what's his name?" Arthur asked, snapping a few times, and looking over to the Italian.

"Who?"

Arthur continued snapping, "That one famous author, his last name starts with a 'K.'"

His hints didn't seem to be helping the Italian come up with an answer, as he seemed just as confused than before, if not more so, "Um, Kevin?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, that doesn't sound right."

Lovino thought longer this time, humming as he did so, "Hm… King?"

"Yes, Stephen King. You can become the new Stephen- no…" Arthur paused for a long moment, "You'll be better than Stephen King."

"Better than Stephen King?" Lovino asked, sounding like he didn't believe it.

Arthur smiled as he continued his argument, "Yes. People will be coming to you, wanting you to sign their copies of your books, then they'll pass the books down in their family so they can make millions off of it in a hundred years."

Lovino raised his eyebrows, "So my books will be that famous—"

"Young women will scream your name and show you their breasts." Arthur added, interrupting the Italian.

"Well, uh, that's quite the fantasy, Arthur." Lovino fought a hard laugh with each word he spoke.

As Arthur replayed the words in his head, he realized what he had said. He could almost laugh at himself, but he felt embarrassed. How the hell did he come up with something like that? Then again, he was in the hospital, which probably meant he was on pain medication… _A lot_ of pain medication, "I'm sorry, Lovino. That sounded much better in my head when it was tainted with pain medication." He apologized.

"No, no, Arthur. It's okay." Lovino replied, chuckling.

Arthur chuckled as well, but it threw him into a harsh coughing fit. His chest tightened with each cough, and his vision blurred more and more. It was terrifying. He gasped loudly, his cough finally dissipating. His eyes were tearing from the fit, but he blinked them away. He looked in Lovino's direction and froze. There was a figure in the doorway, but this one he could make out it's features. It was male, had long, almost glowing blonde hair, and was just simply beautiful. The light behind him seemed to grow brighter and almost… heavenly? The contrast was so strong, the dark room that enclosed him seemed endless, but the bright, brilliant light grew, creating a feeling of peace. The figure that stood there was elegant, standing lightly, almost like he was weightless. His left hand gingerly brushed up against the doorframe, his eyes and face, that had colors and features that Arthur could not depict, was the only mystery, but did not deliver fear. Only tranquility. He sunk further into his bed, almost like it was now a cloud, lifting into the sky. He could breathe easier, see better, hear better...

But this could only mean one thing. Overwhelming fear flooded him as he realized it. This must be how it feels when you're dying. That's what people always say it is. A beautiful angel comes to them, and they feel peace. It was the only conclusion. He was dead. "L-Lovino?" Arthur said, trying to gain the attention of the Italian. If Lovino saw this man, then Arthur mustn't have died, and that man mustn't be an angel coming to get him, "Who's that at the door?"

Arthur didn't pull his eyes from the figure in the doorway, but he guessed Lovino had looked over, "It's Francis."

Arthur could feel the smile form on his lips as he stared at his love, recognising that it was him. He felt relief settle in where the fear was, and he saw how far his Frenchman was. He was way too far. Forgetting Lovino was there, he called Francis over, "Francis… Francis come… come here."

Francis hesitated for a long moment, then finally wandered in slowly, almost like a dog who had gotten in trouble.

"Come here," Arthur instructed kindly, holding his right hand out to Francis.

Francis picked up his pace, walking faster, until he finally took Arthur's hand in both of his, showing no signs of letting go anytime soon. Arthur held his hand, closing his eyes, glad to feel the warmth of his Frenchman's hands against his. His smile grew, "How are you?" He asked weakly.

"How am I?" Francis exclaimed quietly, "Don't worry about me, I'm fine! Worry about yourself, how are you?"

"Me?" Arthur said, half to himself. He assessed himself, but he wasn't in much pain right now. A lot less pain than he was in earlier, "I'm much better than I was."

Francis nodded a few times, but didn't reply. Arthur guessed that he didn't believe what he had said. His husband's eyes scanned him, staring down at his hands for a few heartbeats. Arthur sighed, "Francis, I feel much better than I look."

"Really?" Francis asked, his eyes almost glowing with hope, and his accent sounding thicker than Arthur remembered. It was probably the stress.

Arthur gave a few tired nods, "I'm weak, but I will get better."

Francis' gaze dropped back down to his hands, "How do you know?"

Arthur shrugged and gave a reassuring smile, "I'm too damn stubborn to die, you, of all people, know that… And besides, I didn't live through all of that just to die in a hospital."

"You're right," Francis agreed with a light chuckle, "you're way too stubborn."

Arthur stared up into his Frenchman's eyes, that were watery. He looked like he was repressing tears, and his jaw quivered a little. He breathed only in deep breaths, seemingly and desperately trying to stay calm. Arthur's shoulders relaxed a little, and his eyebrows raised, "What's wrong, Francis?"

Francis shook his head, "Nothing, Arthur, I'm fine. I promise."

"Then why does it look like my Lilypad is going to cry?" Arthur asked, using the pet name he gave Francis, and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not going to cry, Arthur." Francis replied, shaking his head again, and squeezing Arthur's hand back.

"Come here, Francis." Arthur ordered sweetly.

Francis gave a concerned look, "I'm right here."

"No," Arthur said, shaking his head, "down here."

" _Quoi?_ "

Letting go of Francis' hand, and raising both his arms, Arthur made a hugging motion, "Come here." Without much hesitation, Francis lowered himself down to Arthur, holding him close, but gently. Arthur held him back, closing his eyes, "See, Francis?" He started kindly, "I'm okay, I'm right here, I'm okay… I won't go anywhere, Love, I promise."

Arthur felt Francis bury his face further into his shoulder. His body shook lightly as he began to sob, "I thought you were dead!"

Francis' hug tightened, and although it hurt his aching body, he didn't care. This was the first time in God knows how long that they've been able to hold onto each other. The first time in what feels like a lifetime that Arthur has been able to hold his Frenchman close, no matter how much it hurt. Arthur pat Francis' back, and played with his long hair a little. He nodded, "Shh, I know, Francis, I know… But it's alright, I'm here now… I'm with you."

Francis laughed, sniffling, "And here I thought I'd be the one comforting you… I'm sorry, I—"

Arthur shook his head, "No… no apologizing… Just…" he paused, sniffling some, feeling a few tears roll down his own cheeks, "...just… let me hold you."

Francis leaned into the hug a little… A little too much. His arms were tight around his ribcage, just over a deep cut, that would probably scar. Arthur tried to repress it, but he grunted in the Frenchman's ear, causing him to sit up, "Did I hurt you? Are you alright?" He exclaimed quickly, putting his hands over his mouth.

Arthur let himself sink into the bed, "I'm fine, you just brushed up against a cut, that's all."

Francis stepped forward, taking his hand again, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Francis," Arthur said soothingly, "I said I was fine."

"But…" Francis trailed off, biting his lip. He lowered his head, looking scared, "But you're…"

"I'm what?" Arthur tilted his head to the side.

"You're so hurt." Francis' words were barely audible to Arthur's ears, that were ringing slightly. He squeezed Arthur's hand a little.

"I know, Francis," Arthur replied, turning his head to the Frenchman a bit more, "I know… But, Francis, I said I was going to get better, and… a-and I will... I promise you."

Francis tilted his head to the side, "Why do you keep saying my name like that?"

Arthur drew his eyebrows together, confused by the question, "What?"

"I don't know," The Frenchman started, "you keep saying my name a lot with a specific tone… Why?"

Arthur rubbed his thumb across Francis' knuckles, "Because I can… Because I'm talking to you."

Francis stared into his eyes, Arthur unable to read his emotions. He seemed to be analyzing or thinking about something, but Arthur had no idea what. His gaze passed Francis, and landed on the chair that Lovino was previously sitting in, but was now absent. He raised an eyebrow, "Where'd Lovino go?"

Francis looked over his shoulder, and to the chair, "Oh yeah, he was in here, wasn't he?"

Arthur looked up to Francis, "Where do you think he went?"

Francis shrugged, "He probably left to give us privacy. He did that when I met him after Matthew was found… He's a very kind man."

Arthur chuckled, "Angry, a total arse, but kind."

"That's not very nice," Francis exclaimed quietly.

Arthur smiled, "You don't know him as well as I do," He paused to catch his breath, "you'd understand if you did… He'd laugh at what I said."

There was a few heartbeats of silence before Francis changed the subject, "How awake are you?"

Arthur shrugged, "Pretty awake considering… I do have pain meds in me. I was a little loopy earlier, and I'm beginning to feel it again."

Francis was quiet for a moment, "Do you want to see the boys?"

Arthur sat up a little, not even hesitating to give his answer, "Yes! Where are they? Are they downstairs?"

"Yes, yes," Francis laughed, "I'll go get them."

"How come they weren't with you… when you came up here?"

Francis kissed his cheek, "I wanted to see you, and see how you were… I had no idea what to expect… I needed to see you first, so I can tell them what to expect."

"But…" Arthur paused, "it's just me."

Francis smiled, "I know, but I need to tell them what to expect, so they aren't surprised."

"I understand," Arthur said, looking down to Francis' hand, that was still intertwined with his, "don't take too long."

"I won't," Francis bent down and kissed him on the forehead, "I'll be back shortly." He turned and walked away, hesitating at the doorway, before turning down the hall.

Arthur stared at the open door, where Francis was last seen. He already missed the company, even though it sounded pathetic. He couldn't wait until he saw the boys again, he just wanted to hold them close, and even sing to them if they wanted.

.

Francis was standing in the elevator, holding onto his son's hands. Alfred was surprisingly silent, considering what was going on, but Matthew's quietness seemed normal. He was always quieter, but ever since he came back from the hospital, he's been quieter than usual, which worried him. Francis shook his head, the elevator beeping as the door opened, revealing the fourth floor, which held Arthur's room.

He led his sons out of the elevator, and turned down the hall, in the direction of Arthur's room. He walked a few paces, then stopped, pulling his sons to the side, and kneeling down in front of them. With a sigh, he began, "Listen," he paused, knowing he had to word this delicately, "we're about to walk into your father's room, but… he doesn't really look the same."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, "Does he have a beard?"

Francis laughed at the innocence, "No, he doesn't have a beard… Daddy is very weak, and hurt. His skin is pale, and his voice is very quiet—"

"Is his voice as quiet as Mattie's?" Alfred interrupted.

"Hey!" Matthew exclaimed, looking offended.

"Quieter," Francis stated, "just, remember, you're going to have to speak up, and listen carefully if you want to hear him… He has a breathing mask on his face, so his words are a little muffled, too."

Alfred tilted his head, "Why are you telling us this?"

Francis closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Your father is very hurt, and though he may not look exactly the same, or act exactly the same, I want you to remember it's still him."

"Well, who else would it be?" Matthew questioned.

"...Just… just keep what I said in mind, okay?" Francis smiled, standing back up, and leading the boys to Arthur's room. He paused in the doorway again, knocking on the open door, not wanting to wake Arthur if he had fallen asleep.

"Come in, Francis."

"Daddy!" Alfred blurted out, running forward, Matthew on his heels. Francis couldn't help but laugh at the scene, it was very cute. He walked in, and sat down in the chair at Arthur's bedside.

"Oh, Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed quietly, looking over the side of the bed at the boy, "I'm so glad you're safe… I missed you so much, you have no idea."

Francis was a little confused on why Arthur had only addressed Alfred, he expected for Arthur to address both of them simultaneously, but he just guessed that he had different things to say to each of them.

"I missed you too, Daddy!" Alfred exclaimed, tears in his eyes.

"Daddy," Matthew started quietly, "I missed you too!"

Arthur's eyes locked with Matthew's, and Francis narrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Matthew?" Arthur's voice was barely audible, and he sat up a little, grunting as he did so, "You're alive?"

Francis felt his heart sink. Arthur thought Matthew was dead? _It was probably because they were torn apart._ Francis' mind could only wonder what kind of horrid thoughts had gone through Arthur's head, imagining his son dead _._ He could almost cry at the _thought_ of Matthew dead, let alone actually _believing_ that Matthew was dead.

"Yes, I'm right here." Matthew replied. He didn't sound confused, but sympathetic. Francis could tell that Matthew understood why Arthur would believe so, and he lifted his right hand up to Arthur, and took it, saying, "I'm right here, Daddy."

Francis could basically feel his heart shatter inside his chest. Matthew was comforting Arthur. It was sweet, but it hurt him to see it.

"Thank God you're alive!" Arthur exclaimed weakly.

"Thank God you're alive!" Alfred echoed back, grabbing Arthur's hand as well.

Arthur was quiet, letting them hold onto his hand. Francis couldn't help but smile at the scene. His family was together again, and although a little shaken and injured, they have each other once again.

Arthur pat the bed a few times, like he was calling a dog up onto his lap, "Come up here you two, I can barely see you down there."

"Wait, what?" Francis asked, "No, Arthur, you're hurt, they should stay down."

Arthur looked at him with "puppy-eyes," delivering an innocent smile, "But Francis…"

"You sound like a complaining child," Francis laughed, "but no, you're hurt."

"That shouldn't matter," Arthur argued, "if they don't go climbing across my abdomen, I'll be fine… they can just stay at the foot of the bed."

"You're leg." Francis stated simply.

Arthur turned his head away from Francis and to the ceiling. He seemed to be deep in thought, and his face twisted in a small amount of pain. Apparently Arthur had forgotten about the shot wound in his leg, or maybe it just didn't cross his mind. Arthur had already said he's been having memory problems… Should Francis be worried about that, or should he shrug it off? Arthur is very weak at the moment, a blessing that he's alive, of course he's going to have some short-term memory problems.

"They can sit by my hips," Arthur offered, looking back over with pleading eyes.

Francis let out a sigh. He knew that Arthur wanted to see his boys, and since the two were still young, looking at them over the bed was a little hard, being that they're pretty short, "Fine," he breathed, "climb on up, but be careful, don't hurt him!"

Alfred didn't hesitate. He climbed up on the bed, sitting a bit awkwardly on Arthur's right side. Matthew moved to the other side of the bed and climbed up. It was a little relieving that Matthew was on Arthur's left, which is the side of his bad leg, and Matthew was naturally more careful. Francis scooted his chair forward, wanting to be closer as well, "If they bother you—"

"They're not going to bother me," Arthur interrupted, smiling, "you're the one who's bothering me." He joked.

Francis laughed. In actuality, the Englishman's sarcasm wasn't that funny. He laughed at the remark because it was so relieving. Arthur hasn't changed, "I see how it is," Francis started, "after I worry for a month and a half—"

"A month and a half?" Arthur exclaimed, his voice cracking a little, "I… I was…" He didn't finish his statement, he just trailed off.

"Arthur," Francis said soothingly, trying to calm his husband, it didn't really work. Francis had planned on mentioning this later, when the two were alone, and they could sit and talk about it, but it just slipped out. He took his Englishman's hand, running his thumb across his bony knuckles.

"I was gone for a month and a half…?" Arthur slowly turned his head to Francis, "You… this… this has to be a joke! You're joking… right?" He sounded desperate.

Francis could feel himself deflate. He ran a hand through his hair, and rubbed the back of his neck, " _Non, cher_ … I didn't want you to find out like this, it just, slipped out…"

"A month and a half…" Arthur breathed, looking up to the ceiling.

Francis sighed, looking to the floor, unsure what to say. He couldn't say that it wasn't that long, it was a month and a half, and it certainly felt like more to him, let alone to Arthur. Then it hit him like a brick. He glanced up to Arthur as he realized it. Arthur has been beaten and in isolation for a month and a half, he should expect psychological problems to develop. People in prisons who go through solitary confinement just once come out with side effects, but what about after being beaten for a month and a half on top of it? Francis rubbed his eyes with his free hand, as a new stress entered his life faster than a speeding bullet.

He felt a gentle squeeze on his hand, followed by his husband speaking, "Francis, are you alright?"

Francis delivered a reassuring smile, even though he was panicking on the inside, "I'm fine _cher_ , trust me."

Arthur, in any other case, would've never trusted the words "trust me" coming from Francis' mouth. That always meant he was trying to end the topic before discussion arouse. But this time, to Francis' relief, Arthur did trust him, and didn't further interrogate him. Arthur gave a weak smile, and looked to Matthew, "How's your hand doing?"

Matthew shrugged, "It hurts, but not that bad. It's just really itchy, and I can't scratch it because of the cast."

"His doctor was so cool!" Alfred exclaimed, "He let Mattie pick the color of his cast, I didn't know you could do that!"

"How much longer are you going to have it on?" Arthur asked Matthew, ruffling Alfred's hair.

"Two, maybe three weeks." Francis answered for his son after Matthew thought hard, and finally looked over to him for help, "He's not expressing much pain in it, nowadays, it'll probably be closer to two weeks."

"Yeah," Matthew agreed, "like I said, it doesn't hurt that bad, only if I get behind on medicine. Or at night, it always hurts more at night."

"It's just like when someone's sick," Arthur added, "they always feel worse when the sun goes down… I have no idea why, but they just do… Oh, and you said your arm itches, right?"

Matthew nodded, "Yes."

Arthur chuckled, "When I was in highschool, your uncle, Pattie, who was in college, broke his leg being stupid… Whenever he needed to scratch his leg, he took a wire clothes hanger, straightened it out, and shoved it down his cast to scratch it."

"How'd Uncle Pattie break his leg?" Alfred exclaimed.

"He fell out of a tree," Arthur said, smiling, "he was drunk and in college, I think one of his friends dared him to climb it, you're going to have to ask him, I wasn't there."

"Papa, can we do that wire hanger thing?" Matthew asked.

"No, I don't think we have any wire hangers," Francis paused, "besides, we're not at home right now, and won't be for a while."

Matthew's eyes dropped to the bed, looking like he was disappointed, and didn't reply for a long time. He fidgeted where he sat, before turning back to Francis, "How long are we going to be here?"

Francis sat up a little at the question. He narrowed his eyebrows, staring down at Arthur, who had his eyes closed. That depended on everything. It depended on how fast he healed, on what kind of help they could afford, on if there were any complications, or special treatments that were needed, and… and if Arthur was even going to survive long enough to heal. Francis eventually realized he had been silent for a long moment, Matthew and Alfred both staring at him. He hated this answer, and he hated to burden his sons with this sad excuse for a lie, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

"I don't know."

* * *

 _ **Translations:**_

 _ **Quoi- (French) What**_

 _ **Non, cher- (French) No dear**_

 **So, how did you like this chapter? I thought it was painfully sweet. It was a nice change to what I've been writing in this story, I like the contrast. But what will happen next? Hm… I guess you'll have to keep reading then, MWHAHAHA!**

 **Note: Arthur addressed Francis as "Lilypad." This is a headcanon of mine that Arthur calls him such because Francis' favorite flower is the lily, and he's a frog, frogs hop on lilypads. I also just think it's a sweet pet name for Francis, I hope you like it too.**

 **~Feliks Out! (^J^)**


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